Love is a Battlefield
by caisha702
Summary: A wise person once said that there is more than one side to every story and that what at first appears to be black and white isn't always so - I said that I wouldn't do it but I have - The Hunger Games - Clove's POV
1. Chapter 1

I know I said on numerous occasions that I wouldn't write this but I did it anyway (well started to). Technically it's not AU as the story follows the actual book and all events that happen in the book happen in this but I guess that I have made so much of it up myself that I should say it is slightly AU anyway...

Set in the same universe as everything else I have ever written so it may make more sense if you have read my other story as I haven't done as much explaining in this one :)

I don't own The Hunger Games or any aspects of the characters that are recognisable as Suzanne Collins' original creation (in this, there probably aren't many :)), and I also 'borrowed' Clove's surname and her mentor's name from the fabulous laxgoal31 because 'Sharp as a Knife' was the first fanfiction I ever read and the names just stuck in my head so much that everything else sounds wrong to me.

This is for Gethsemane (because she passed all of her exams this week!) and be-nice-to-nerds and foxforever23 (thanks for the support - you're both great!)

Chapter One

When I open my eyes to see the pale light of dawn shining through the tiny window, I groan and pull the blanket up over my head, pretending for a second that I am somewhere else and that I don't have to get up for training. I am probably late already, though considering what day it is, I have no idea why I still have to go. The day before Reaping Day and they still make us train. And it's not even my reaping. It won't be me heading to the Capitol tomorrow.

That's the way it works in District 2. Young or old, when you or, in most cases, someone else, makes the decision that you are going to walk through the forbidding gates of the place that is known throughout the district as the 'Training Centre', there is no going back. There is no escaping the harsh training regime that was designed with a single purpose in mind: to produce the strongest and most formidable Hunger Games tributes in the whole of Panem. Everyone knows that it is forbidden by the government to train children for the Games, but everyone also knows that, after keeping the districts exactly where it wants them of course, the main objective of the Hunger Games is to provide the citizens of the Capitol with entertainment. So it is no surprise really that the authorities in the Capitol turn a blind eye to what is going on here, deciding that having tributes with weapons training who are taught to kill from an early age makes for far more exciting viewing than having a group that consists entirely of petrified children who are as terrified of the weapons as they are of each other. As long as we are no threat to them, as if we ever could be, then they leave us to get on with it. Especially us here in District 2. Here their presence is so strong that they would know we were a threat before we knew it ourselves.

A few minutes later I reach the conclusion that I can't put it off any longer, so I throw the blanket to the floor and push myself to my feet. It seems strange to wake up in this room, as I have spent very little time here for the past couple of years, but since Cato won the reaping trials, as I knew he would, they are always watching him, checking to make sure that District 2's newest tribute is not doing anything that will disgrace the district and/or reduce his chances of winning the Games. Not that there are many people that they could replace him with even if they wanted to, as most of his competition are either dead or recovering in the hospital room after their meeting with him in the Arena. That thought makes me smile, but although our relationship is common knowledge, there are very few people who approve, so it didn't seem like a good idea for me to be seen wandering out of his room at dawn on the day before he goes to the Capitol.

I walk over to the small mirror that is fixed to the wall above the washstand to complete my daily inspection of my left eye, which has become something of a ritual over the past week. As I look at my reflection I can see that the bruise has now faded to a pale grey colour that almost matches my eyes, a considerable improvement on the vivid purple that it was a couple of days ago. It's all Cato's fault, he's the one who hit me. Well actually it's all my mentor's fault, as he came up with the stupid idea of making Cato and I fight in the ring in the first place. If he hadn't suggested it then it would never have happened, because, although we have fought each other many times in the ring as ferociously as we would fight any other adversary, Cato has never laid a hand on me in violence or anger outside of the gymnasium walls since our childhood battle through the corridors of the Training Centre on the day we first met. However, that doesn't change the fact that Cato's lucky punch has left me walking around for the past week looking like I have been involved in a collision with a Capitol hovercraft.

Arriving once more at the conclusion that there is nothing I can do but wait for it to heal, I glare at my reflection for a second before looking away. I pull on a black tunic and pick up my knives as I leave the room, walking through the corridors that I have walked for the past five years, ever since I was accepted here as a twelve-year-old orphan, penniless and homeless following the untimely death of my father, a Hunger Games victor himself, but with an extraordinary talent for knife throwing, a complete lack of fear and a disregard for authority which hasn't been completely removed even after all the time that's passed.

My father hadn't wanted me to go to the main Training Centre. He had trained me himself from a very early age, always telling me that I would learn bad habits if I was taught with the other children who were destined for the Games and that he wasn't willing to let that happen. 'You are the daughter of a Hunger Games winner', he told me countless times, 'what is a high standard for others should merely be average for you'. And despite the constant lectures and nearly as constant beatings I received when whatever I did was never quite good enough, I suppose he did love me in his way, and I had grieved for him when he died in mysterious circumstances five years ago. Not in the locking myself in a room for days and crying myself to sleep sort of way of course, but I missed his guidance for a long time after he was gone. It was Cato who finally made me see that I didn't need Father, that I could look after myself perfectly well on my own, and that is only one of the many reasons why I am not alone now, and why I would never even dream of betraying him.

The attitude of the people that pass me as I make my way to the main gymnasium has changed over time though. Where they would once have ignored me totally or even deliberately walked into me, now they give me as much space as they possibly can, scurrying past with their eyes downcast, doing everything that they can to avoid attracting my attention. Some of the younger ones even turn around and move as quickly as they can back the way they came. There are few better feelings than the sense of pride and achievement that I feel when they do that. I have worked hard over the years to build up such a fearsome reputation and it is satisfying to see that my efforts in the training ring have not gone unnoticed.

I walk through the courtyard and past the arched entrance of what we call the 'Arena' after the place where the Capitol sends the tributes to fight. Of course the official word on it's use is that it's just part of the gymnasium, but in reality it is a vast amphitheatre where every year, a month before the official reaping, it is decided who will represent District 2 in the Games. This being District 2, it is not the usual random drawing of names but a battle, often to the death, between all of the eighteen-year-olds in the Training Centre, every person desperate to be the winner, to be one of the two that make it to the Capitol. The gates are open now, left that way until the two chosen ones leave the district for the real arena, part of a ritual that has remained unchanged for over sixty years.

As I approach the main doors of the gymnasium, my path is blocked by a large and all-too-familiar figure, one of only a handful of people who would dare to sneer down at me in the way he is doing now.

"What do you want, Lucius? Are you in such a rush to go the same way as Cassius that you can't wait a few more days?"

"You said you would fight me whenever I want. I choose now."

I stare up at him, hoping that I am managing to keep my face devoid of all emotion as I try to decide what to do next. I don't fear him, as I am completely confident that, despite his vastly greater size and strength, I am the better fighter, and to be honest, he really doesn't have the intelligence to get the better of me, but if I had to choose a time to be involved in an unsanctioned battle it most definitely wouldn't be now.

"Why now? Some warning would have been nice. The reaping is tomorrow, can't your pathetic little grudge wait until after then? In fact, it was Cato that killed Cassius. If you want revenge then go and find him if you dare."

"This isn't about Cato, it's all about _you_."

"Because your idiotic brother wanted me and I told him where to go? Grow up, Lucius, Cassius was always going to die when he stepped into the Arena with Cato, and if you had more than your single brain cell then you would know it as well as I do. Cassius couldn't have defeated Cato if he'd had a hundred years worth of training."

It had all started years ago, when Cassius, together with his brother Lucius, had first arrived at the Training Centre as an extremely arrogant fourteen-year-old who thought he had the ability to conquer the world, starting with this small part of District 2. His father had died in a quarry accident, apparently, and the Peacekeepers who had taken control of him very quickly decided exactly what to do with his excess of grief that had turned into anger. He hadn't taken my rejection of him well, and by refusing to take no for an answer, had very quickly made an enemy not only of me but of Cato too. Being the same age, they had trained together, constantly competing against each other, both inflicting as much pain as possible on the other and counting down the days until the time finally arrived when they were eighteen and in a position to fight to the death in the Arena at the reaping trials.

These arguments and confrontations came to the inevitable conclusion a month ago, when, following a night of drinking copious amounts of stolen wine, Cassius found me in the courtyard and had decided to, how did he put it, 'teach me a lesson that I would never forget'. I had fought him off despite being unarmed, knocking him out with a rock that had been lying on the floor, but when I had returned to my room to find Cato waiting for me, he had sensed that there was something wrong. When I told him what happened he lost it completely and it was all I could do to stop him from getting his sword and running Cassius through where he lay, still unconscious on the courtyard floor. Eventually, after a considerable amount of time and effort on my part, he had calmed down enough for me to convince him not to kill him until they got into the Arena at the reaping trials in the morning. Cato has always been the same. When he loses his temper he really loses it, and as much as he knows that I don't need protecting, sometimes he just can't help himself.

The next morning they were the first pair to fight, Cato and Cassius, and, well trained and strong as he was, Cassius lasted less than five minutes in the face of Cato's all consuming rage. Lucius, who was the one who found his brother in the courtyard and had presumably heard a very different story from him, has hated both of us even more than he already did since that day.

"Are you scared, Clove?" he taunts, "Do you want to wait to see if Cato comes back from the Capitol before you fight me so he is here to protect you?"

"He hasn't gone yet, Lucius. But if you think I need his protection then I am more than happy to prove you wrong," I retort, gesturing to the enormous double doors of the gymnasium and drawing my knives from my belt before starting to walk forwards. He backs away, stepping backwards through the doors as if he thinks I will stab him in the back if he turns away. Like I would be that cowardly. As if I would need to be.

The main gymnasium is, so I am told, almost as big as the one at the Training Centre in the Capitol, and as I approach it's centre point, the raised platform of the fighting ring, I am surprised to see quite a crowd of people gathered around the barriers that surround it. When I look more closely, I see that most of them are my age, the would-be-tributes that I have grown up with, who I have trained with for over five years, mixed in with a few of the braver youngsters, the ones who have the courage to risk being punished by our mentors for being involved with a fight that hasn't been agreed to. But what are they all doing here? Why are they not training? Why are they standing there as if they are waiting for something to happen? Lucius has planned this. The arrogant fool has probably been planning it for weeks, hoping to take revenge for the death of his brother in front of as big an audience as possible.

The crowd parts to let me walk over to the ring, and I climb quickly through the ropes to stand opposite Lucius. He is considerably taller than me and at least twice as heavy. Almost as tall as Cato, I think as I stare defiantly up at him, refusing to be the one who looks away first.

I drop into a fighting stance and Lucius copies. I have always been able to block out everything that is happening around me when I fight, thinking only of myself and my opponent, and it is the same this time despite the grudge being so personal. The last thing I hear before falling into the familiar comfort of my trance-like state is the roar of the gathered crowd as Lucius charges towards me and the metallic clash of our weapons meeting rings out around the gym.

I don't know how long we have been fighting for, it could have been hours or only minutes that we have been circling around each other, both refusing to give the other an inch. We are more evenly matched than I thought, the extra weight that he can put behind his strikes giving him more of an advantage than I had guessed, but I am fast and he is predictable, and eventually he presents me with enough of an opportunity to knock him off balance and send him crashing to the floor of the ring, accompanied by the loud gasp of the onlookers.

As I kneel down beside him, relishing in the look of utter humiliation, shame and defeat that I can see so clearly in his eyes, I wonder if this is what it will feel like when I get to fight in the real arena as one of the tributes in the seventy-fifth Hunger Games next year. If it is then I would almost consider volunteering a year early, if it wasn't for the fact that it would mean competing against Cato, which I am beginning to realise I could never do. We are pretty evenly matched, my lover and I, and, putting aside all emotions for a second, if we were to fight to the death I imagine it would be virtually impossible to predict the winner, but this is the one instance when putting my feelings to one side is not something I can do. From the first day I saw him, he has always been the one person in the world that I could never bring myself to kill.

Not liking the way that I am able to think about what I suppose could be called love in a situation like this, when I should really be thinking about hate and death, I block out all thoughts and raise my knife, drawing the blade down Lucius' arm before bringing it back up to his throat. I am about to reunite him with his brother when the sound of running footsteps begins to echo around the room.

"What is going on here? Break it up immediately! Anybody that is still here in ten seconds will get ten lashes whether you are involved or not! "

Such is the price to pay for fighting without permission. I recognise the voice as being that of my mentor, Vikus, a previous Hunger Games victor himself, the immensely powerful man who has absolute authority and control over everyone in the Training Centre and a considerable number of District 2 citizens outside it, but I still don't step away. I sense someone else's presence in the ring and I lash out behind me with my other arm, not knowing who it is but with the battle-rage still upon me too strongly for me to care. The handle of my knife meets with it's target, who jumps back enough to avoid the blade, and the pain that shoots through my arm brings me abruptly back to my senses. It feels like I have hit a brick wall.

"Do you want my last memory before I am sent to the Capitol to be of you tied to the whipping post in the courtyard?" growls Cato, in a low voice that only I can hear.

I turn around and look up to see him towering above me, a bruise already starting to appear on his chest from the handle of my knife. I stand up to meet his gaze, still having to look up to meet his dark blue eyes.

"I had to. You know why."

He shakes his head, but I can tell he isn't angry really. Now if mine and Lucius' positions had been the reverse of what they were, if the man I had been fighting had had _his _sword to my throat, then I know it would have been a very different story.

"I am sure it was just a training session that went a bit too far," says Cato to Vikus in a calm and reasonable tone of voice, using his recently acquired status as the next District 2 tribute to his, or should I say my, advantage and choosing not to draw attention to the fact that Lucius and I had been using real weapons rather than wooden practice ones. I am about to step forward but he tightens his hold on my upper arm into a vice-like grip so that I can't move. "I think it would be best if we all just walk away, especially given what day it is tomorrow."

Vikus looks furious, but it is Lucius that he turns to first. "Not only do you start an unsanctioned battle on the day before the reaping but you don't even have the intelligence to make it one that you can win. You are a disgrace to this district. Get out of my sight and be grateful that you can still move enough to do so!"

As Lucius drags himself to his feet with great difficulty and almost falls through the ropes to leave the ring, Vikus turns to face me, his fury diminished but only very slightly.

"You will get your chance soon enough. If you pull a stunt like that again then not even he will be able to help you," he says, nodding in Cato's direction.

"I didn't need or ask for his help."

"Don't push your luck, Jacia," is his response, and I would swear that he smiled slightly at my defiance. "Save your attitude for the arena next year."

* * *

Cato drags me out of the ring and doesn't let go of my arm until we have left the gymnasium and are standing alone at the edge of the courtyard. When he does, he turns to face me and laughs. His rare laughter is contagious and soon I join in, laughing until I am gasping for breath, as much at his reaction as at what happened. It would shock virtually everyone that he knows to see him like this, the humourless fighter who hates the whole world suddenly replaced by this seemingly carefree young man. Not that he would be acting like this in front of anyone else. There are some sides to him that only I see.

"Was Lucius really stupid enough to start that?" he asks eventually.

"Yes," I reply. "I don't see how he can considering Cassius died in the Arena, but he still blames me for his brother's death."

"It doesn't matter now. He will always blame you for his brother's death. Well until next year he will anyway. Then maybe his ghost will come back to haunt us," he adds, smiling wickedly before changing the subject to something a lot more contentious than Lucius' inevitable death. "I see that your eye looks better."

I scowl at him and lash out violently as if I am going to give him a black eye to match, but he instinctively dodges my hand, showing his years of training.

"You should have moved," he smirks, repeating what he must have said a thousand times this week, "I thought you were going to move."

"Well I didn't, did I?"

"Go and stop the twelve-year-olds from trying to kill each other when they should be training," he says, realising that this is one debate that he is never going to win and pushing me in the direction of one of the smaller training rooms.

With a final glare back at him, I set off in the direction that I was pushed, towards Training Room 3, where, like Cato implied, the newest would-be-tributes, to whom I have recently started teaching knife-throwing, are probably even now pretending that they are in the arena already and causing unimaginable chaos.

I enter the room as silently as I can, and I don't know whether to be happy that my own ability to creep around unnoticed is as sharp as ever or annoyed that even the most recent addition to the Training Centre has been here for at least six months and not a single one of them has noticed my presence. If this was the arena then I could have killed well over half of them by now. If they don't improve, and quickly, then in a few years time we will be the laughing stock of Panem, a Career District with tributes who cannot defend themselves never mind attack anyone else.

Having said that, they seem to be learning to attack a lot quicker than they are learning anything else, and I watch with amusement as a young girl by the name of Iris, who seems to have had some form of training already, just as I had had at her age, manages to pin a boy who is at least a head taller than she is to the wall of the room by holding her wooden knife to his throat.

I get a bit closer to the pair before I throw my own very real knife into the exact centre of the practice target in the middle of the room, hard enough to send the whole structure crashing to the floor, making a satisfyingly loud bang. There are about twenty of them in the room, and every single one spins around to face me, suddenly completely silent.

"Iris, leave him alone until you are skilled enough to mean it," I say, turning to face the small girl who reminds me so much of myself.

"Yes, Clove," she says meekly as she steps away from her relieved looking victim, and I smile slightly in response.

I had been so proud when Vikus had asked me to be involved in their training, a great honour for me, especially considering I am only seventeen and haven't been anywhere near the Capitol yet. It also helps that they are all terrified of me, and I hope that one day everyone in the Training Centre will speak to me with as much awe and respect in their voices as these children do. I'm sure that they will when I get to wear the Victor's Crown after the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games next year.

That's the plan, the plan that Cato and I have been creating for years, deciding how we are going to reinvent and improve the training regimes to make sure that every victor for the next hundred years comes from District 2, starting with ourselves, him this year and me the next. Him winning the reaping trials was just the first stage of our master plan to achieve more than it should be possible for two orphans to achieve. The Capitol created the Hunger Games to achieve it's own ends, but who says that we cannot use it to achieve ours? When we win we will have as much power as it's possible for two children of the districts to have, and we will have it together. There will be no twenty years with the Peacekeepers for us. We will be victorious, and it will be a victory that belongs to both of us.

* * *

A number of hours later I leave the training room, happy in the knowledge that at least some of my students have managed to get a knife somewhere in the general vicinity of the target. It took many hours, but I got there in the end.

Now though, I have no idea what to do next. There is nothing I can do but wait for tomorrow to arrive so I decide to go for a walk, to get away from all talk of training and tributes and the Hunger Games, just for a short time. I make it about as far as the open doors of the Arena before I see something that brings me to an abrupt halt.

Ducking quickly behind one of the pillars that supports the main building, I watch as Cato, Vikus and at least five of the other mentors, all past victors, stand in a tight circle, obviously deep in discussion about something. Cato makes a comment that I can't quite make out and it is then that I hear a familiar and decidedly irritating laugh. So that's where Rose disappeared to.

Rose, who is tall, strong and about as unsuited to her very feminine name as it is possible to be, is to be the female tribute this year. I don't know her all that well, but I do remember her winning a very long and boring set of reaping trials that I had given up watching after only a short time, giving it only long enough to decide that I could have beaten all of them with an arm tied behind my back before turning and walking away, pleased to see that she would be no competition for Cato.

Guessing that I really shouldn't be part of this conversation, which must be something to do with the Games, and deciding that one run in with Vikus is more than enough for one day, I slowly step back the way I came, watching the group huddled by the Arena doors the whole time. I almost reach the end of the corridor and am about to race off in the other direction, thinking that I have escaped unnoticed, when I take one last look at them and immediately meet Cato's eyes. I wonder how long he has known I was there?

He nods to me almost imperceptibly, and raises his arm to run his hand through his hair, pointing in the opposite direction to the way I was about to go as he does. What is he doing? Only yesterday we had decided that we would not see each other again until he comes back from the Capitol and now not only has he intervened when I was fighting Lucius but he is also telling me to wait for him to finish his discussion with our mentors so that he can see me. Honestly, if anyone else was being so infuriating then they would be well on their way to ending up in the same position as Lucius was in earlier by now.

I turn around and walk in the opposite direction, only stopping when I reach the door of his room, hovering around outside despite the fact that I have a key in my pocket. I have been here so many times and yet this evening it feels different. I don't know what it is, maybe it is knowing that the reaping is tomorrow and that all of our planning is about to get a bit closer to becoming reality, but something has changed. It is about half an hour before I hear familiar footsteps on the stone paving of the corridor. As he approaches, I can see the surprise in his eyes.

"What are you doing out here? Anyone could walk by. I thought we were disgracing the district by being seen together."

I mentally wince as I hear my own words from yesterday repeated back to me. "I don't care if we are," I reply, trying to tell him that I have changed my mind and that I don't want be apart from him before tomorrow without actually giving voice to the words that I am too proud to say. "Anyway, I thought that Rose might not like it if she came back to your room with you and found me there," I add, smiling slightly.

"That's not funny, Clove. Not even you could possibly imagine how much I am looking forward to breaking what I hope will be a very short Career Alliance. You know she hates you, don't you?"

"Of course I do. She hates me because she thinks she loves you."

"Like I said, she'll be in trouble this time next week then, won't she?" he says. "You should have fought her at the reaping trials, then she would soon have lost some of her unjustified arrogance."

My mood sobers suddenly at his comment, as does his when he realises what he has just said. Rose proved to be the strongest and most skilled of this year's entrants, but I am better. If I had fought Rose then I would have defeated her, and therefore all of the other eighteen-year-old female would-be-tributes who she had already bested, making me the winner of this year's reaping. Which would have sent me into the arena with Cato with both of us knowing that only one would be permitted to leave alive. It's not really arrogance on my part to believe it would be so, merely a fact.

"Probably as well you didn't," he says grimly, shaking his head slowly in as much of an apology as I am going to get.

We stand in the middle of the narrow corridor for several minutes, not speaking, just staring at each other. I try to think of something to say, but the sarcastic comments and jokes that we seem to use when other lovers would think words of affection more appropriate simply won't come, and it is he that breaks the silence first.

"Aren't you going to come in?" he asks, nodding in the direction of the battered wooden door.

"Do you want me to?"

"You know that I do."

"Which is why I must leave. I will see you in the square tomorrow."

Turning and walking away is one of the hardest things I have ever done but I know that it is necessary. I don't fear for him in the usual way that people fear for Hunger Games tributes. He is the most powerful and best trained tribute to leave District 2 for years and none of the others will get close to killing him. Provided that he can maintain his concentration and isn't distracted, and right now I don't trust myself not to be more of a hindrance to him than a help. He needs to be focussed on the task ahead of him, not on me, which is why I know that I have to leave.

I walk through the long corridors all the way back to my own room without meeting a single person. They must all be out celebrating the fact that it is the reaping tomorrow, the one day of the year when there is no training.

I open the door of my tiny bedroom and swiftly close the door on the world, switching on my bedside lamp and feeling as grateful as ever that I come from the district the Capitol chose to make it's new centre of defence after the Dark Days and the fall of District 13. In other districts, the electricity rarely stays on for longer than a couple of hours at a time, but if the supply runs out here then it runs out in the huge mountain fortress that towers over the main town as well, and that would never be allowed to happen. I have only ever told the truth to Cato, but I am not as fearless as I would like people to believe. The one thing that I genuinely fear is the dark.

I have slept with the light on ever since Vikus pulled me out of training about a year after my arrival at the Training Centre and threw me into a pitch black underground room that was so small that there wasn't even enough space for me to stand up. He had left me there for two whole weeks, supplying me with only enough food and water to keep me alive and refusing to answer my questions on the rare occasions that he came to check on me. I had thought that I was being punished for something, that I had unknowingly committed a crime so severe that he was really going to leave me in there to die. I had cried with relief when he had finally dragged my broken body out, only for him to slap me as a punishment for showing weakness through my tears. I came to understand his reasoning in time, that he did it not to chastise me but as a test, to prepare me for the arena, to see if I would be strong enough or if I would break under pressure, but at night when nobody can see my fear, I am still afraid of the dark.

I pull my tunic over my head and climb into bed, lying there staring at the wall trying to think about anything but tomorrow. I run through the plan over and over in my head, hearing the famous voice of the Hunger Games' commentator Claudius Templesmith announcing first Cato's victory in the seventy-fourth Games and then mine in the seventy-fifth. I fix in my head the image of myself returning to District 2 to a fanfare of trumpets with Cato moving through the crowd of onlookers to stand by my side, imaging how it will feel when we are successful and the years of waiting and planning are over. Anything to block out the negativity that keeps trying to return the second I let my guard down, telling me that the Gamemakers are unpredictable and that there is always a chance that he will not return. A small part of me wants to run back to him, to tell him not to go, even though by now he has no choice, but the rest of me fights that part like I would fight any other opponent, crushing it until it finally gives up enough to let me sleep.

* * *

I have always been a very light sleeper, and it must only be a short time later when I am woken by the turning of a key in the door. My first thought is that I will kill him myself. As there is only one key to my room and it is currently under my pillow, it can only be Cato, using his skeleton key that opens any lock, which he has had since before he came to the Training Centre just before his twelfth birthday, a remnant of his childhood spent living as a thief on the dangerous streets the poor side of District 2's main town.

It says a lot, both about the feebleness of the lock on the door and about my lover's lock-picking skills, which clearly haven't diminished over time, when seconds later the door clicks open and then shut again shortly after. He doesn't say a word, but I hear his footsteps, that are surprisingly light for a man of his size and stature, as he crosses the short distance to the bed and lies down beside me, pulling me against him like he has done so many times before. Despite my days of protesting and telling him to stay away and concentrate on the Games, any attempts that I make to pull away seem half-hearted even to me, for once my head losing it's constant battle with my heart. I reach out to turn the lamp off and he pulls me even closer, recognising the hidden meaning behind my action as he always does, allowing me to demonstrate through actions and symbolism what I will never be able to express in words.

I lie there in the darkness, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat until the silence becomes unbearable and I simply have to speak.

"Were you discussing strategy already? You're not even in the Capitol yet."

"I thought you were asleep"

"I don't think I will be able to sleep until they put that crown on your head," I reply, speaking without thinking just like I feared I would, so I swiftly change the subject. "Do you even have a strategy?"

I can feel his lips curl up into a smile against the back of my neck as he laughs at my question before answering.

"Do I need a strategy? I just go into the arena and kill the other tributes, surely you understand the concept of the Games by now."

I sit up and hit him but he just pulls me back down, holding onto me as if I am liable to disappear into thin air if his grip slackens even slightly. Neither of us speak again and when I wake up in the morning he has gone, vanished without a trace.

I am beginning to think that I totally imagined his presence, that for once I had been granted a pleasant dream instead of a nightmare, when I sit up and notice the blood red tunic covering the bottom of the narrow bed. Now I know that I wasn't dreaming, because he always tells me to wear red.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The reaping is one of the few occasions deemed important enough for us to be given permission to leave the Training Centre to attend. I cannot really say that they are giving us permission, as that would imply that the mentors get to decide whether we go or not, which they most definitely don't, but it increases their feeling of power and sense of self-importance if they pretend that they do. Of course, that is not to say that we stay confined in there all the time throughout the rest of the year, only that on this day we leave through the front gate, rather than over the wall that surrounds the complex or through a gap in the barbed wire fence.

I walk through the huge metal gates and onto the wide road leading to the main square, standing out from the large number of other people all heading in the same direction, both would-be-tributes and regular citizens of District 2, due to the vivid colour of my tunic. I look down at it and smile, all of yesterday evening's doubts having vanished with the dawn to leave only certainty of victory behind. How can we lose? Have we not trained every waking second of every day for this for years? There will be nobody in the arena either this year or the next that can't be defeated, for surely even the other districts that train their tributes will never produce our equals.

I have watched the reapings on the television since I was a very small child, as have the entire population of Panem, everyone following orders issued by the all-powerful Capitol. Therefore I know that there is not another district in the country that has a Reaping Ceremony like ours. I can see the pictures of other reapings replaying in my head now. I can see the starving children who have been forced to take tesserae just to feed their families, which only increases their chances of being chosen. I can see those same families, gathered around the enclosures full of their children, their faces full of joy or sorrow, depending on whose name the Capitol escort draws from the reaping ball. They bring it all on themselves if you ask me. If they trained some of their children to fight and survive in the arena like my district does then they would not have to put themselves through such torture each and every year. If I ever have children then they will learn how to fight. I would never leave them as defenceless as the petrified, hopeless individuals that are going to make it so easy for mine and Cato's plan to succeed.

A District 2 reaping is different. It is truly the image of what the Capitol want all of the other districts to create. It is like a huge party, with the grey and dirty stone buildings of the main square bedecked with banners and ribbons, everyone happy and safe in the knowledge that their children will always be spared, even if their name is called. And they are safe because of us. Called 'Career Tributes' by most of the other districts and universally hated by all, we are just as universally loved by the people of our own, who, even now as I walk through the square towards the seventeen-year-old's enclosure, incline their heads in respect when they recognise the familiar metal square of my district token, which hangs around my neck on a silver chain, engraved with my name and number, telling anyone who sees it that I am in training for the Games.

It is nearly time for the ceremony to begin by the time I approach the correct enclosure, and the square is packed full of people already. They travel here even from the most remote of the district's outlying villages, so everywhere is more crowded than usual.

Despite the fact that they all back away when I walk towards them, there is often nowhere for them to go when they try to clear a path so it takes a long time for me to reach my final destination. As I duck under the rope barrier I glance up at the huge clock that is mounted onto the wall of the Justice Building and see that it is quarter to nine. Fifteen minutes to go.

I subconsciously raise my shoulders and straighten my back as I stare at the crowd of seventeen-year-olds who are already occupying the enclosure in their normal formation of Careers at the front and others at the back. There is no way that I am going to miss seeing the first of what will be his many moments of glory, so I know that I have to be at the front of the group not stuck here at the back. I smile to myself at the thought of seeing the only person I have ever loved standing up on that stage, basking in the adoration of the crowd, and I take a step forwards, pushing my way through the first couple of rows of people before they truly see me. When they do recognise who and what I am, a route through suddenly begins to appear as if by magic. Pathetic, that's what they are. What do they think that I'm going to do to them when the Capitol camera crews are perched precariously on the surrounding electricity pylons and rooftops, watching our every move? Even a lot of the people that I am familiar with from the Training Centre back away, staring at the floor so they don't risk meeting my eyes. How can they even think themselves worthy of representing District 2 in the Games next year when they so openly display their fear?

I have reached the front of the enclosure and am staring ahead of me, waiting for the boredom of enduring the story of Panem's formation for what feels like the millionth time to begin, hoping that our esteemed Capitol escort will arrive soon and just get on with it, when I hear a familiar and much hated voice rise up above the general background noise that surrounds me.

"So you're here to watch Lover Boy go to his death then?"

"Haven't you had enough after yesterday, Lucius?" I reply, matching his hostile words with my own, refusing to show him that his comment has got to me and that only last night I was considering if that would be exactly what I would be doing today.

"You wouldn't have killed me," he answers, trying to maintain his aggressive tone of voice but failing dismally and making it perfectly obvious that he doesn't believe what he said any more than I do.

"Have you made your choice yet?" I ask gently, smiling sweetly at him on the outside but starting to laugh hysterically on the inside when I see how much my abrupt change in manner is unnerving him.

"What do you mean?" he asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the suspicion as clear to hear in his voice as his fear.

"Well, you have three options; either I can kill you, you can wait for the Games to be over and Cato can kill you, or you can take the sensible and all together less painful option of falling on your own sword. The choice is yours."

He stares at me for a second, and his mouth opens but no words come out. As he takes a step back, I take a step forwards, not really knowing what to do but not willing to walk away from a fight for the second time. However I have no choice when silence falls over the whole square as the clock strikes for nine o' clock. It looks like my target will escape one more time after all.

As soon as the chimes of the clock stop resonating around the square, Selene Fairfax, the person who travels from the Capitol each year to escort our tributes back to her city for the build-up to the Games, strides onto the stage. She is dressed in a fluorescent pink suit, and it is so bright that I almost have to avert my eyes as she approaches the podium at the centre of the stage and begins her speech in her usual way:

"Happy Hunger Games to all of District 2! I am so happy to see you all again!"

I mentally cringe at her high-pitched, screechy Capitol accent just as I do every year, thinking that it will be a huge effort to resist killing her when I am forced to spend great lengths of time in her company next year. Maybe she will have been demoted by then. I can only hope, because I don't think the Capitol would take too kindly to having to find a new District 2 escort at such short notice. Although thinking about it, her accent is that extreme and she is that irritating that, in my mind at least, there is a distinct possibility that at least some of the Capitol people would be somewhat relieved to be rid of her.

Spinning around to face the various gathered dignitaries in a precise way that makes her long, almost black hair fly in the air around her as she moves, it is actually Selene that introduces our mayor rather than the other way around as it is in all of the other districts. If the Capitol had a competition to find the escort with the biggest ego then she would definitely win, as she seems to love her moment in the spotlight more every year. As I watch her prance across the stage, I find it very easy to imagine her practicing and perfecting her movements in a mirror, making sure that the cameras always get what she considers to be her best angle.

As the mayor finally gets his long-awaited introduction and launches into his opening speech, which is identical every year, I once more find myself wishing that they would just get on with it. I wouldn't be at all surprised if I go to the Capitol and find that these people hold a ceremony for the sole purpose of celebrating the fact that they remembered how to breathe when they woke up in the morning.

It seems to take forever, but eventually the mayor stops talking and reintroduces Selene, who abruptly stops rocking from side to side on her high heels and launches herself forwards in the direction of the first reaping ball. She struggles to put her hand inside it without scattering slips of paper all over the stage as the glass ball is full to the point of overflowing. Nobody in this district fears to take as many tesserae as they need, safe in the knowledge that however many times they are entered in the reaping, there will always be someone who will volunteer to take their place if their name is drawn.

I don't even hear the name of the boy who Selene calls as my eyes frantically search for Cato, who I know will be somewhere near the front of the eighteen-year-old's enclosure, waiting for our escort to call for a volunteer. The boy, who is tiny and can only be about twelve or thirteen, is fearlessly climbing the steps of the stage before I spot my lover's familiar broad shoulders in the middle of the sea of people in front of me. I watch as he visibly straightens his back and begins to make his way to the front of the group before Selene even speaks again. The group surrounding him immediately splits to clear a path for him, and I feel a rush of pride as he approaches the boy whose name was called and pushes him back in the direction of the steps and into the crowd once more.

As Cato announces his name and his intention to take the place of the boy, who is currently standing on the steps and waving frantically to both the camera crews, who are only interested in what is happening on the stage so are ignoring him totally, and his friends in the enclosures, some of whom are waving back, I gaze up at him, only having to wait for a couple of seconds before his eyes meet mine. His face is totally emotionless, his body radiating aggression in a way that makes him barely recognisable from the man who left the red tunic on my bed earlier this morning. He seems to be mentally in the arena already. Good. Intimidation is one of a tribute's greatest weapons, and looking at Cato now, I can imagine the effect that seeing him will have on the twenty-two others whose names, with the exception of the pair from District 1, have yet to be chosen. I bet that merely the idea of him will defeat well over half of them by the time they have finished watching the review of the reapings. He looks like a Hunger Games winner, and the response he gets from the crowd in the square is louder than any I have ever heard.

Eventually Selene realises that Cato isn't going to even look at her, never mind involve her in what already looks like a victory celebration, so she stalks across to the other reaping ball. I can see Rose poised at the front of the crowd and ready to run, desperate to take her position on the stage. I smile to myself as I can't help but notice that the people in the square are still so busy cheering for Cato that they probably won't even notice her appearance.

The second reaping ball is just as full as the first, and once again a mass of paper drifts to the floor of the stage and into the front enclosure as Selene's perfectly manicured hand closes over a single piece that she lifts with a flourish and slowly unfolds. I am staring up at Cato when she announces the name, his face glowing with the same pride that I still feel inside at the sight of him.

"Clove Jacia!"

On hearing those two words my mind abruptly goes blank as the world seems to begin spinning at lightening speed around me. It doesn't register at first, that the impossible has happened and that it really was my name that Selene called. It's virtually impossible that this could happen. I only have six entries. Six entries amongst many thousands of others. I must have misheard. This can't be happening. It's not my time. I am not going to the Capitol until next year.

As my brain tries to process what I just heard and work out what it means, I can hear my father's voice echoing in my head for the first time in as long as I can remember. He is repeating the words that he told my nine-year-old self many years ago when I had asked him why a young girl with a Career's district token didn't go to the Capitol even though her name was drawn from the reaping ball.

'She's only thirteen, Clove', he had said. 'They only go to the Capitol if they're older than fifteen. A young child like her would never be strong enough to win, no matter how well she has coped with her training so far. And you know that winning is everything, don't you?' 'Yes, Father', I had said, never thinking for a second that I would feel anything other than complete confidence if, some time in what seemed then to be a very distant future, I happened to be called before I volunteered at eighteen. Now look at me.

It was my name I heard and now I have no choice. Because she might have won the reaping trials but Rose isn't going to volunteer. Not now. Not when the unwritten rule of our district dictates that fate must have pulled my name from the reaping ball and so nobody should stand in the way. I've known Rose for years and I know she's weak. She can barely summon up the courage to defy the servants who clear up the dining hall so there's no chance of her defying every mentor in the Training Centre and nearly seventy years of tradition.

My lungs seem to constrict so that I can't breathe as I notice that all of the cameras are pointing in this direction and that everyone has turned to stare at me. Looking everywhere but at the stage, I inhale as deeply as I can as I attempt to prevent my current emotional turmoil from showing on my face. I have been trained at the Training Centre of District 2. I most definitely cannot be seen to show weakness.

I'm suddenly pushed forwards, and that's enough to make me lose what little control I had managed to salvage. I obviously couldn't take my knives into the square with me, as the pretence that Career Tributes don't exist has to be maintained at all times for the cameras, but as I spin around to see who it was who dared to touch me, I reach for them instinctively, feeling like my mind has been separated from my body and I am looking down on myself from above.

I can't imagine the expression that appears on my face as I see Lucius standing a short distance behind me, but he must have been able to read my thoughts well enough, because as my eyes meet his, he runs backwards so fast that he stumbles into the people behind him, unable to keep his balance enough to stop himself from falling to his knees. Selene calls my name once more, and I know that I have no choice but to go to the stage. With one final smirk in the direction of a very humiliated Lucius, I turn and walk away.

I am almost as well known to the people of District 2 as Cato, as many them often come to the Arena to watch us fight, with the more wealthy amongst them placing bets on who will win each of the bouts. Even those who work in the mountain fortress join in. I suspect it gives those of them who are from the Capitol the feeling they are getting to watch something that resembles the Hunger Games more than the usual once a year. I daresay that I have made a number of them a lot of money over the years, and the almost deafening applause that I receive reflects that fact well. If it had been this time next year then I am sure I would be loving this, raising my arms to make them shout even louder as I walk to the stage to take my position next to Cato, District 2's newest mentor and winner of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, but while I am still walking to the stage towards Cato, the reality of the situation couldn't be more different. For he is a tribute just like me, and as I meet his gaze for a split second before having to look away, knowing that I will be unable to contain my emotions if I do not, it truly sinks in that only one of us will survive.

I look into the distance beyond the crowd as I take my position on the stage on the mayor's other side, doing anything to avoid looking at Cato. I want to cry, I want to scream. Part of me wants to run from the stage and see how far I get before the Peacekeepers catch me, while the other part wants to push the mayor out of the way and cling to Cato as though my life depends on him, as though he can protect us from the awful fate that we now face. And the worst thing is that I can't do any of those things. All that I can do is stand on this stage in front of the whole district, pretending that I couldn't be happier that my name was drawn today.

My ears are ringing with the continuing cheers of our vast audience as Selene gestures for Cato and I to shake hands, yet another part of the Hunger Games ritual that I know so well that has suddenly become so difficult to recall. His large hand covers my small one completely, and I can feel the familiar calluses on his palm that he has acquired as a result of years of sword practice. I force myself to look up at him and immediately see that the face I recognise better than my own is frozen in an expressionless mask. In all the years I have known my lover I have never seen him so impassive, and that is what shocks me more than anything else that has happened today. A second later he releases my hand and I reluctantly let arm fall back to my side as we both turn to face the crowd. I vaguely register that the anthem has started, but after that I don't hear a note of it.

* * *

As soon as the anthem finishes I'm surrounded by about five Peacekeepers, who I know are here to escort me to the Town Hall. District 2 is different to the other districts in this way too. Everywhere else the tributes are allowed an hour to say goodbye to their families and friends before they begin their journey to the Capitol, but who is there to say goodbye to us? They will maintain the façade for the cameras, of course, giving the poorest of the poor a chance to earn a meal by pretending to grieve for people they didn't even know, but in reality there is hardly ever a grieving family left behind here. It goes without saying that I am obviously no exception, especially as the only person I have ever loved is going to be on the tribute train with me. But I still have to wait in the Justice Building for the other Peacekeepers to clear the way to the train station and for Selene to organise the journey. Well, that's what she said she was doing anyway. I actually translated her words to mean scheduling in a few more photo shoots and interviews before she's confined to the train until we arrive at our destination tomorrow.

I walk through the enormous glass doors of the district's most expensive and prestigious building and stop in the entranceway. I have never seen anything like its vast and ancient stone columns before and I stare at my surroundings in wide-eyed amazement. One of the Peacekeepers reaches forwards to put his hand on my shoulder to keep me walking and I immediately lash out, raising my arm violently to knock his hand away. How dare he touch me? I turn around and raise my hand again, intending to use the poor unfortunate man as an outlet for my still barely suppressed rage despite the potentially dire consequences, but he has already backed away, raising his own hands up in surrender.

I'm shown into a small, dingy looking office by a different Peacekeeper and he tells me to wait until someone arrives to take me to the station. I pace around for a few minutes, counting the holes in the carpet in an attempt to distract myself from my thoughts, and am about to give up and flop into the armchair by the window when I hear a loud crash and a very familiar voice shouting my name. I fly to the door and throw it wide open, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the sight that confronts me.

Cato is standing in the corridor surrounded by Peacekeepers just as I was, but his Peacekeepers are currently in varying states of consciousness on the floor at his feet and most of the surrounding furniture is now only fit to be used as firewood.

"Are you crazy? What do you think you're doing?" I snarl at him, trying my best to talk him down from the fit of rage that could end up getting him killed. "I hope you realise you're only still alive because of the effort it'd take them to replace you!"

He noticeably calms as soon as he sees me, but I haven't seen him lose it like that outside of the practice ring for years, and I don't like to admit it but his reaction worries me. He's going to have to control himself better than that when we arrive in the Capitol, because I can't imagine the people there being anywhere near as tolerant of his outbursts of temper. He might have quite the reputation here but that will mean nothing as soon as we get on that train.

"We need to talk. They wouldn't let me see you."

"So you knocked them all out? Not the best choice of possible responses," I reply, as unable to resist smiling at the total carnage that surrounds him as he was when he had interrupted my fight with Lucius.

"There's no way out of this, is there?" he asks, suddenly serious.

"You go to your room and I will go back to mine, then we can talk when we get on the train."

The only other answer that I could think of was 'no, there is no way out of this' but I can't bring myself to say it, not yet. I step back into the office and close the door, desperately trying to think of a way to get out of this but at the same time understanding that there is nothing I can do. The rules of the Games haven't changed in over seventy years. There is no way that they will let us both live no matter what we do. The only option available to us is to wait until we are the last two left and then let the Capitol decide who lives. Whatever happens, one of us will never see District 2 again. My next thought is that the only other thing I can say for certain is that I wouldn't like to be one of the other tributes. I am almost bursting to take my anger out on someone, and if I cannot make the Capitol suffer for this cruel twist of fate then it will have to be them that feel the full force of my rage.

* * *

About half an hour later the door opens once more and yet another different Peacekeeper peers rather nervously into the room, indicating that I should follow him. I emerge into the corridor expecting to have to step over the remains of the furniture, but the mess has been cleared away so well that it is as if it was never there.

I see the cameras flashing before I see the reporters and cameramen that stand behind them, and it doesn't take much effort to fix a murderous glare upon my face. If they want stereotypical District 2 Career then that is what they're going to get.

Walking ahead of the Peacekeepers, I stride through the double doors into the bright sunlight as if I fear nothing and everyone steps back to let me through, reporters calling out questions to me the whole time.

"How do you feel about becoming a tribute?"

"Were you going to volunteer if you hadn't been chosen?"

I ignore them all, knowing that everyone in Panem will be watching me now, feeling determined that despite the number of emotions whirling around in my head, I will not bring shame upon my district by appearing in any way weak.

"It's so good to see you!" shouts Selene as she holds the car door open, gushing in typical Capitol fashion. How I wish I had my knives. Well any weapon actually, by this stage I am not fussy. In fact she is the last thing that I need right now and her voice is so grating on my currently incredibly fragile nerves that I could probably make do with my bare hands.

Unfortunately I have no choice but to get in the car, moving as close as I can to the far door as Selene falls gracefully down onto the seat beside me, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. The car moves off immediately and I stare at my hands, trying to fight off the feeling of nausea that rises up inside me due to the unnaturally fast movement. I have never been in a car before and if this is what it feels like then I don't think I will be in a rush to repeat the experience.

Eventually I become accustomed to the car and feel able to look up without my head spinning, so I turn to look at our Capitol escort. Why am I alone with her? Where are the mentors? Where is Cato? I hope this has nothing to do with a few very battered looking Peacekeepers. I will kill him myself if it has.

"Where is everyone else? Where is Cato?" I ask, annoyed to hear more than simply a casual interest showing clearly in my voice.

Selene waits until she has finished reapplying her purple lipstick before turning to look at me with a sickly sweet smile.

"That is a good strategy. Really. A pretty girl like you should use your looks to your advantage."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Cato is a strong and powerful man. If you can attract his attention then it will only be of benefit to you in the arena."

I laugh without humour at her comment. If only she knew the truth. "You have mentored District 2 for long enough and seen enough of these to know that I don't need anyone's protection," I say, gesturing to my district token.

"I have no idea what you mean by that," replies Selene, doing her best to look disdainfully down her nose at me as she speaks. So, the denial of the blatant truth is going to continue even in private then.

The car stops suddenly and I turn to look out of the window to see that we have arrived at the small train station already. It didn't take long to get here as it was only the presence of the reporters preventing us from walking the short distance from the Justice Building. And the fact that Selene might damage her shoes, of course.

I can see the highly polished silver metal of the tribute train from here and I cannot help but feel a slight twinge of anticipation. I have been training for the arena all my life and I am finally on my way. As I feel some of my old confidence begin to return I start to consider that maybe there will be a way out of this. After all there is a first time for everything and if anyone can win the love and respect of the bloodthirsty Capitol audience enough to make the Gamemakers change the rules then it is surely Cato and I. We have to at least try. I just wish I could talk to him without all of these people watching our every move.

I have been ushered out of the car and across the platform onto the train before what is happening really registers. By the time my brain has processed all of the questions shouted at me by the reporters (all unanswered of course), I find myself standing in the middle of what must be one of the carriages, surrounded by a wide range of furniture and soft furnishings that is probably worth more than the entire Training Centre. Never having had any myself, material possessions don't mean very much to me, but I am still impressed by the opulence that I see all around me. And this is only the train. What will the Capitol itself look like?

It is strange to be all alone in here. Selene has disappeared without a trace and I haven't seen Vikus or any of the other mentors since I left the stage in the square. I wonder who the other mentor will be this year? By the time a would-be-tribute is in the position of having a chance of winning the reaping trials they usually have a mentor who takes a special interest in their training, who is also the person who accompanies them to the Capitol if they are successful, but as Vikus mentors both Cato and I, the second mentor could be any one of at least ten of District 2's surviving past victors. I hope it isn't Rose's mentor, Augustus, who I have always hated with a passion that rivals what I felt for Cassius, but given the luck I am having today I can guess that it more than likely will be.

The cabin doors swing open once more, startling me away from my thoughts, and I am suddenly face to face with Cato, who rapidly crosses the cabin to stand inches away from me. I stare resolutely at the floor, suddenly frightened of how I will react if I look at him. Whatever I feel inside I cannot afford to lose control of my emotions now, because I know that if I do then it will all be over before it has even started. The only way I am going to get through this is to do something that I have never done, which is to push him away and banish him from my thoughts until I have decided what to do next. That is the theory anyway, a theory that quickly goes flying out of the window.

"Look at me!" he shouts, closing the distance between us even further. I raise my eyes reluctantly and all I can see is him, as close as he can be without touching me.

"Keep your voice down. Do you want the mentors and Selene in here?"

"Do you really think I care about them now?" he retorts, his voice not dropping even slightly.

"There's no need to shout at me. It isn't my fault this is happening. I didn't pull my name from the reaping ball. I didn't create the rules we've known all our lives. I'm seventeen, Cato. It's not my fault Rose saw a way out and decided she didn't want to die! Be rational. We're here. And if we don't keep our concentration then we'll both end up dead."

He obviously doesn't feel ready to discuss anything rationally yet though, and he crosses the small room to the sideboard, quickly and completely unintentionally selecting what appears to me to be the most expensive looking vase on there before lifting it up and throwing it across the room. It smashes into many thousands of pieces with an almighty crash but he doesn't watch it fall. Before I can look away from the remains of the vase and back to him, he strides back across the room and lifts me from the floor by the front of my tunic, still gripped by the rage that is threatening to overwhelm him. He has never scared me and I am not scared now, not for me anyway, but I am scared that I will lose him before the Games have even started, before we even set foot in the Capitol.

"Cato…" I whisper, suddenly unable to make my voice any louder.

Less than a second later I see the look in his eyes change, and he is once more the man that I have loved all these years. It seems very strange to be the one looking down on him rather than the other way around, but he doesn't appear to even notice that I am currently at least two feet higher than I normally am.

"Clove, I'm sorry. I would never have hurt you, you do know that, don't you? I just don't know what to do."

"Stop breaking what I am sure is unimaginably expensive Capitol property for a start. And then you could put me down," I add with a smile.

He lowers me gently to the ground and I lean forwards slightly to rest my forehead on his chest. We stand there for several minutes, neither of us moving or saying a word. Eventually I break the silence to tell him of the only plan that I have, of how we should dispose of all of the other tributes in the most memorable way possible, hope that it is enough to make the Gamemakers let us both live, and if it is not then how we will have to give a convincing show of fighting it out between us before letting the Capitol decide who lives and who dies. The way I feel when I look at him, I cannot decide which of the two final options I would prefer.

He doesn't interrupt me at all, and I take that to mean that he has reached the same conclusion.

"What do we do until we get to the arena?"

"We pretend to the others that we're just working together as part of a Career Alliance. Nobody can know, not the other tributes, not our mentors and especially not Selene. She would have it all over the papers in seconds and then where would we be? The Gamemakers won't let us both live if they think we've planned it all along."

"Why won't they? The Capitol audience won't need their television dramas if they know the truth. It might win us more support."

"And it might not. We can't take the risk. Not yet, not before we see what happens in the arena."

"So we have to pretend to hate each other?" he asks at the same time as he puts his arms around my waist and pulls me sharply towards him.

With great difficulty, both physically and mentally, I step away from him before answering his question. "Yes we do. Well not hate exactly, but you can't be doing that in the middle of a train carriage. Vikus has to believe that we have put aside everything that is between us to compete in the arena. It is the only way."

I nod at the door as I hear the sound of rapidly approaching high heels coming from the corridor outside. He nods in return but as ever is determined to have the last word.

"Just remember I'll remember everything you say against me in front of them and make sure you pay for it later."

"We'll see about that," I hiss back just as the door slides open and Selene flounces in in a flurry of bright pink. Who says that I am not equally as determined?

She takes one look at the remains of the vase, shrieks in that special way that is unique to Capitol people, and walks back out again, muttering under her breath the whole time about how the rule of having no Career Tributes should really mean no Career Tributes and not bothering to close the door behind her. I am tempted to point out to her that nearly anyone, Career or not, can smash a vase, but I decide that such a comment wouldn't do much to improve the situation so I say nothing.

She returns a short time later with three Avoxes, all young and dressed in pure white tunics, who immediately proceed to clear the broken glass from the floor. I look from them to Cato before turning to Selene and speaking for the first time since she appeared.

"I had an accident. I lost my balance when the train started to move and knocked the vase off the sideboard."

She looks at me suspiciously but I am relieved when I see that her denial extends to situations like this too. It is not that I think Cato would actually be punished for breaking the thing but after the Peacekeeper incident I don't think it's worth taking the risk. Everyone knows that the Capitol has the power of life and death over us all, and as they exercise that power without needing a reason with such frequency, only a very stupid person will go out of their way to provide them with an excuse to hurt those they love.

A short time later Vikus strolls casually into the cabin and looks around disinterestedly. I suppose that in the forty years since he won the Games he has been on this train so many times that even something like going to the Capitol has become routine and boring for him. He looks sharply from Cato to me and then to Selene, who is still standing by the sideboard supervising the Avoxes. What is it with these Capitol people? They never complete even the simplest of tasks themselves but they always remain totally convinced that nobody else can do anything unless they are constantly being watched and instructed.

"In all the years I have trained you, Jacia, I have never known you to lose your balance in such a dramatic manner."

Damn him, does he miss nothing? "But I have never been on a train before. I didn't expect it to move as quickly as it did." I answer hastily.

He doesn't reply but raises an eyebrow at me in a way that I have seen maybe thousands of times over the past five years, each time to let me know that he no more believes what I said than I do. I seem to get away with it though, because the sound of footsteps comes from the corridor once more and everyone turns to witness the appearance of our second mentor.

I guessed that it would be Augustus, simply because the appearance of the arrogant and sadistic man who I have hated since way before he returned from the Capitol, victorious and desperate to begin abusing his newfound status and power, would be the perfect end to my perfect day. Predictably I am not disappointed.

He only won the Games a couple of years ago, making him only about two years older than Cato, but despite his youth and relative inexperience, he already thinks he can control what happens in the Training Centre. I have seen him with my own eyes, bullying the young trainees in ways that even Cato and I consider extreme, never hesitating to take advantage of the large number of young women there who are a lot more naïve than I. I feel my earlier sorrow return as I recall myself telling Cato only days before that Augustus would be at the top of my hit list next year when it is all over. Now it will never be over and I might not even get the chance to make him suffer for his arrogance.

Our two mentors stare first at Cato and then at me, as if they are trying to decide what to do next. I suppose they are. My name being drawn from the reaping ball will have ruined more than one set of well laid plans, as now that they are looking at me and not Rose, the mentors will have to have a very quick rethink of this year's strategy.

"Are you going to be a liability to me, Clove?" asks Vikus, seemingly randomly, but I suspect that I know full well where he is going with this.

"Why should I be? You said yourself that I can fight better than almost anyone in the district. I have waited for this moment for years."

"In that case you will remember that winning the Games means that you will have to kill every last one of your fellow tributes," he replies, looking very pointedly in Cato's direction.

"Of course. Do you genuinely think that I fear any of them?" I answer, not being strictly honest with him but not lying either. After all, what I said is true, I have never feared Cato.

"And how about you?" Vikus asks, abruptly switching his attention to the man beside me.

"I can feel the crown on my head already," Cato replies without hesitating, his voice once more full of his usual casual arrogance.

Our mentors continue to gaze unwaveringly at us and I stare right back at them. If they are waiting for me to drop the act then they are going to be waiting for a very long time. It seems that they reach the same conclusion, giving us the benefit of the doubt in favour of moving into the next cabin, and when I follow them, the first thing that I see is a huge table laden with food.

Unlike most of the other tributes, who will probably all also be on their way to the Capitol by now, I have never lacked food, have never actually felt truly hungry, so the table doesn't hold my attention for long. What I do notice is the huge wall-mounted television screen, and when I look in the direction of the adjacent wall at an ornately carved clock, I find myself wishing that it would hurry up and be three o'clock so that I can watch the first replay of the summary programme showing the other district's reapings. I long to know, as I have done for years, the identities of the twenty-two people who will laughingly be called my competition.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

It seems to take forever for the time to pass, and every second that takes us closer to three o'clock is surely taking at least ten times as long as the one before. The five of us have been sitting here for what feels like hours, with both Cato and Vikus remaining in a continual state of resolute silence, although probably for very different reasons.

Selene and Augustus sporadically attempt to make conversation, which I respond to as best as I can considering I have very little to say to either of them. Each time Augustus opens his mouth I feel the desire to silence him permanently getting stronger and stronger. Maybe that's why the Capitol has provided us with food that is already in bite sized pieces - so that they don't need to also provide us with knives. I wonder if the other district's tributes are eating from the same menu? I somehow doubt they are.

Finally the clock reaches five to three and Vikus walks over to switch on the huge television screen that takes up a whole wall of the train carriage.

"Are you ready to see the competition?"

"What competition?" I reply with a slight smile.

"Remember what I told you about arrogance and complacency," he says, but I don't miss the hint of a smile that I also get in return.

The whole room suddenly lights up as the television springs to life and the familiar, almost orange and greatly surgically altered face of the commentator appears in the middle of the screen. I couldn't say what his name is, but the same over-enthusiastic man has been presenting the reaping review programme for as long as I can remember. When he proceeds to wish the whole of Panem 'A Very Happy Hunger Games' at the same time as waving his arms around so vigorously that he almost knocks his assistant flying across the studio, I can see that his enthusiasm hasn't in any way diminished since last year.

I've almost fallen asleep by the time he eventually decides it's time to get on with the matter in hand and at long last show the reapings. I find it very easy to believe the rumours that there are more slaves in the Capitol than actual citizens, simply because I don't see how anything would ever get done if they had to stop talking and wasting time to actually do some work themselves. The screen goes black for a second, then the seal of the Capitol appears, followed by red letters spelling the words 'District One'. I watch intently, curious to see the faces of the people who I will have to form an alliance with, albeit very temporarily.

We're shown numerous shots of the grand and immaculately presented buildings of District 1 while their mayor recites the history of Panem, using exactly the same words that I heard the mayor of District 2 deliver only a few hours ago. I know the story of the nation's history is important but how many times do I have to listen to it? By the time he finishes I'm totally convinced I could recite the whole speech myself.

Before their Capitol escort can even read out the name that's written on the piece of paper he's just drawn from the first reaping ball, the mad rush to the stage begins. It's the same every year, the same undignified and chaotic dash to get there first, to be one of the two people who has an arm raised in victory, a sign to show that they will be representing their district in the Games. It's very difficult to pick out individual faces in the mass of people as they approach the front of the gathered crowd, but whoever they are, they will not be victorious for long.

Eventually the camera manages to focus on only three people out of what must be well over a hundred that make it as far as the stage. Those three are the two chosen tributes and a Capitol escort who somehow doesn't look either as mindless or happy as I was expecting as he raises the tributes' arms in a victory salute to the crowd.

I look at the girl first and don't really know what to make of her. It could never be denied that she is what the Capitol would call beautiful. Tall and shapely with long pale blonde hair that flows in waves down her back, she'll have no trouble getting sponsorship from the population of rich young men in the Capitol who usually take more of an interest in the Games than anyone else. She doesn't have the expression of a stupid person upon her face, so she must be trained or she wouldn't have volunteered, but as I look at her I find that I can't imagine her choosing to fight for the simple reason that doing so would be certain to mess up her hair.

"Well I'd sponsor her," says Augustus, and my whole body shivers with revulsion at his tone of voice. "Seeing that makes me wish I'd been born in District 1."

"You're not the only one who wishes you'd been," I reply, glaring at him despite the fact he can't see me because his eyes don't leave the television screen.

Thinking about it, I suppose it's only right that we should use what advantages we are given, especially in a situation like this. Let her try to use her beauty to win sponsors and allies. She can do things her way, I can do things mine, and we'll see who's victorious in the end. With that final thought I turn my attention away from her to the male tribute. He is tall and dark haired, considerably lighter in build than Cato, and what stands out to me immediately is the arrogant look in his eyes when the camera zooms in on his face as he stares out into the crowd.

"I don't like him," I say, as much to myself as to anyone else. "He has to go, and quickly, alliance or no alliance."

Cato laughs and turns to look at me, his obvious amusement showing on his face. "I know you don't like anyone very much, Clove, but why, may I ask, have you taken such an instant dislike to him?"

"He's in love with himself when he really shouldn't be. I can tell just by looking at him."

"So are you, but I don't hold it against you that much."

So he picks now to develop his acting skills. He's going to suffer so much for that one later. I swear I'll make him wish he'd remained silent by the time we get to the Capitol if it's the last thing I do. "Shut up, Cato. And anyway, since when did I need a reason? I just don't like him."

Seconds later my eyes are drawn back to the screen when I hear Selene's voice call my name, and I watch as I make my way to the stage, feeling so detached that I could almost be watching someone else. I'm relieved to see that by the time I've turned my back on a satisfyingly pathetic looking Lucius, my face is perfectly schooled into the emotionless mask that I had been aiming for. Only a very observant person would notice the way that I take my position on the stage without sparing even one glance for my fellow tribute, and the chances of any of the other tributes who are watching the reapings thinking of anything but their own fears is very unlikely. So far so good.

The next few reapings pass by in a blur, with only a couple of tributes making any lasting impression on me. The pair from District 3 are so feeble-looking that I barely pay them any attention at all after I've quickly decided that they won't have the strength or skill to live through the inevitable battle at the Cornucopia which is always the highlight of the first day of the Games. It's clear to see that the volunteers from District 4 have had training, but from watching previous year's Games I know that training will be nothing compared to mine. They'll be useful in the beginning I'm sure, but that usefulness won't last for long and neither will they.

The first tribute who stands out to me is the girl from District 5. I couldn't say for certain why she catches my attention more than any other, at least not to begin with, but when the name 'Lysandra Newton' is called and the cameras spin around to show the sixteen-year-old's enclosure, focusing on a tiny flame-haired girl who doesn't look a day over fourteen, I sit up and watch the screen attentively. As she starts her journey to the front of the crowd, which is gathered at the centre of a square, a place that greatly resembles the square back home only significantly cleaner and better presented, I notice that she's missing all of the visible signs of terror that are so commonly seen at the reapings of districts which don't have any trained entrants.

I think she would have slipped from my thoughts a lot quicker if she genuinely hadn't been scared, but when the camera zooms in to focus on her face, she is betrayed by her wide and frightened eyes, which seem to dart from side to side as if looking for an escape route that simply isn't there. To feel such horror and panic but still remain able to hide it so well shows calculation and a level of intelligence that I hadn't expected in a person who initially gave every impression of being yet another terrified child. She is small, weak and untrained, so would stand no chance in a fair fight against me, but as the programme moves on to District 6, I decide she'll have to be one of the first to go when we get in the arena. I'll have to kill her before she has the chance to think of a way to even the odds.

After that, all I see is a series of defenceless children who are not even worthy of my attention, and I sit in my armchair thinking when I see each tribute who is chosen that the task ahead of me could not get any easier. I arrive at the conclusion that I've seen the most pathetic looking of them all when I see the girl from District 8. That is until it is the turn of District 10, for surely the boy who is chosen from there is the most hopeless case of all. It takes him at least ten minutes to hobble up the steps and onto the stage, severely hindered by his crippled foot. I bet even District 3 are rejoicing at the sight of him, relieved to see that there will at least be one tribute who they need not fear.

The boy, who I believe is called Lucas, finally reaches the podium to stand next to the Capitol escort, and when he does I'm suddenly surrounded by a chorus of laughter as both my mentors and my lover decide that they can't contain their amusement any longer. After the day I have had today I don't feel much like laughing so I remain silent, thinking only that the boy will be the first of many very easy targets waiting for me at the Cornucopia when the Games begin. Or will he?

The only chance Cato and I have of getting out of this mess alive involves us winning the support of both the Gamemakers and the wider population of the viewing public in the Capitol. If we're going to stand any chance at all of succeeding then we are going to have to do a lot more than just arrive in the arena and wipe out the twenty-two others as quickly as we possibly can. It'll take more than that. Much more. Which is why I'm reconsidering my previous plan. If I refuse to grant this boy the mercy of a quick death then I will surely earn the hatred of all districts but my own, but I have that already just for being who and what I am and it matters very little. What matters is that the bloodthirsty Capitol audience, considering their attitude to even the slightest physical imperfection, are likely to have a very different view. No, I will let him hobble away from the Cornucopia on the basis that he might be useful later. And at least he'll be easy to track down when the time comes.

The girl from District 11 really is a girl. If I thought District 5 looked young then this one doesn't even look old enough to be eligible for the reaping. Her fellow tribute is tall and strong though, a man not a boy, and the first thing I think of when I see him is that it might work to our advantage if we try to recruit him for our alliance when we get to the Capitol.

I'm surprised when the red letters flash up on the screen once more, showing 'District Twelve'. Have I really seen all but one of the reapings already? I look around the room for a second when I feel someone watching me and I meet Cato's eyes instantly. He nods once to me and looks away, but as I return my focus to the television I sense that he's still watching me. I look back at him and then quickly and pointedly stare at the screen again, trying to tell him without speaking that he needs to stop it before someone notices. Selene and Augustus might be unlikely to realise what was happening if a bomb exploded in the middle of the room, but Vikus misses nothing.

For what I think is the first time in the history of the district, District 12 has a volunteer. Growing up first with my father and then in the Training Centre, very few things surprise me now, but I'm truly shocked by the actions of the girl who pushed her way through the crowd to take the place of her younger sister. She must know she's given her life to save that of the other girl, so why did she do it? I've never had a family in that sense of the word, and I can only begin to understand why she would be willing to make such a sacrifice when I think of Cato. I love him, of that I am certain, but would I give my life to save his? I don't know, because I've never been in a situation where I might have to. I guess I'll find out the truth of the matter soon enough. I only wish the nagging voice in the back of my mind wasn't whispering that I already know the answer.

That's not something I want to think about right now, if ever, so I return my focus to the screen, deciding that while they are no real threat to me, the volunteer and the blond-haired and blue-eyed boy who moves from the crowd to stand beside her look considerably less feeble than District 12's usual contribution to the Games.

Cato has barely said two words together since the end of District 1's reaping, so I'm not expecting it to be him who breaks the silence and I'm even more shocked by what he says.

"She's trained."

"How can you think that, stupid?" I reply, forcing myself to sound a hundred times more scornful than I really feel. "She's from 12. The only thing they're trained in is how to discreetly starve to death unnoticed."

"Watch her," he says, pointing at the screen. "She moves like you do."

I give him my best death stare and sit forward in my chair in what I hope resembles one of my usual frequent attempts at intimidation, not because I disagree with him but because he seems to be finding maintaining the act a lot harder than I do. I almost want him to lose his temper again, because I can tell our mentors remain unconvinced that we have put our past behind us.

I watch the screen again as the pair from the coal district are escorted off the stage by three Peacekeepers, thinking that the fact they only get three escorts for both of them when Cato and I got five each says a lot about both the Capitol's opinion of District 12 and also about it's true level of knowledge of what goes on in my district. Not that I haven't always known they know all about us really. The Capitol sees everything. As does Cato, it would appear, because while I'm not in the habit of watching myself in the gymnasium mirrors, I've seen enough people fight to recognise the difference between one who is skilled and one who is not. She moves down the steps very lightly and with an economy of movement that I've seen many times before. She is not the poor, starving, defenceless little girl that she wants us to believe she is, and I suddenly find myself itching to reacquaint her with her true position in the world.

"You'll see the difference between us when we get in the arena."

* * *

Almost three hours later, Cato, Vikus and I are still discussing the merits or, rather more frequently, the weaknesses of the other tributes. Selene says very little and actually seems more interested in what she informs us is the replay of the latest episode of a programme she always watches on the television than she is in us and our discussion. The only time she interrupts is when we mention either the physical appearance of any of the other entrants or tomorrow's Opening Ceremony, which says a lot about her attitude to the Games in general.

It really is just a game to her, as it has always been to most of the Capitol people. I've understood that since I was a child, never really thinking to question it, just deciding that that's the way the world works and accepting it in a similar way to how I accept the fact that the sun will always rise in the morning and that I will train for the Games that have become so much more than simply a game to me.

However since my name was drawn from the reaping ball I've started to think about the Capitol and it's control over the districts in a way I never have before. How nice it must be for people like Selene. To never have to fight for anything, to be able to wish for anything that you want and for that wish to come true without you even having to lift a finger. And as I watch her sitting there, still in her fluorescent pink, laughing at something she saw on the television, the reality of the situation truly hits me for the first time. Here I am, sitting in the same room as her, breathing the same air and eating the same food, but at the same time I'm also attempting to maintain a constant pretence so that my mentors don't know that I feel like the world's ending, years and years of careful planning in ruins. She has no idea how lucky she is.

Switching my attention away from my unusually deep thoughts about Panem's all-powerful Authority, I focus once more on the ongoing debate about the potential benefits to forming the now-traditional and expected Career Alliance.

"The others will be useful to you, especially at the beginning. You must ally with them. That's an order."

I'm tempted to tell Vikus that once we get into the arena he won't be in a position to give us orders, but I decide not to take the risk at this stage. He'll find out the truth for himself soon enough.

"What use could they possibly be?" I ask. "Although I suppose I could use District 1 for target practice."

"And spoil the view so early on in the Games, I won't allow it."

I turn to face our second mentor. "If you were intelligent, Augustus, then you'd realise that you've just signed your girl's death warrant. You know I'll always do the exact opposite to what you want." I watch to see the anger appear on his face before fighting back a smile and looking at Vikus and Cato. "I meant him not her. You can't seriously expect me to work with people like that."

"I'm not asking you to marry him, Clove, just to let him live until you have more time to kill him properly."

I do smile at that, deciding that my mentor might have the right idea after all. If I can take my time with District 1 then that will certainly be memorable to the audience, and memorable is what we have to be. Yes, I will let him live, but only for a little bit longer.

"Very well," I reply. "But he's my kill," I add so that Cato knows where he stands.

He shrugs his shoulders and glances at me before speaking to Vikus once more, only to be interrupted by our honoured Capitol escort. "So the alliance goes ahead-"

"Good. Now we've decided that, I'll show you to your rooms and everyone can have an early night. You will both want to look at your best for when you go to the Remake Centre tomorrow" she says brightly.

I watch as Vikus gives her the very same look he usually gives me when he knows I'm lying, but she doesn't notice, so intent is she on clearing the room. I laugh to myself, thinking that for all Vikus's fearsome reputation back in District 2, he really does have so very little power here. Maybe now he knows how I feel. Or more likely he is thinking of as many ever more imaginative methods that he could use to murder Selene as a way of distracting himself from the urge to attempt one of them for real.

"But isn't that why they call it the Remake Centre? Because none of the tributes who go in there leave the building bearing any resemblance to what they looked like when they went in?" I say, unable to totally keep the apprehension I feel at the thought of the Remake Centre from showing in my voice.

She peers intently over the top of her diamond-encrusted glasses at me for a second before she speaks. "They'll certainly have their work cut out with you. Have you any idea how difficult it is to make bruises like that fade in a couple of hours?"

I suddenly remember my black eye and Cato and I exchange a look, both struggling to keep from laughing aloud when we meet each other's eyes. "I'll tell you how I got it if you like," I say, giving her the most innocent expression I can manage, which unfortunately, according to reliable sources anyway, isn't very convincing.

"I don't think that will be necessary," she replies, her voice as close as someone with such a high pitched voice and extreme Capitol accent can get to stern, which to be honest isn't very. "Come this way please. It will be starting in a minute and I can't possibly miss the beginning."

So that's what this is all about. She doesn't want the new episode of her favourite soap opera to be interrupted by us talking about something as trivial as life, death and the Hunger Games. At least I know where I rank in the scheme of things. As if I didn't already know.

The corridor, which seems to run down the outside of the entire length of the train, seems to go on forever. I'm just about to ask how much further it is when Selene abruptly stops and points ahead of herself in the direction of two adjacent doors.

"The first one is yours," she says looking at Cato, before turning to me and adding, "and the second one is yours. Now I have to go."

I don't have time to answer her as she disappears back the way she came before she has even finished her final sentence. I shake my head, amused by this strange creature who is supposed to be so superior to me and yet seems so shallow and ignorant. I begin to walk towards the second door, getting as far as twisting the intricately carved door handle before Cato grabs my arm and pushes me into the first cabin, following closely behind and slamming the door loudly shut. My first thought is that I hope Selene sprinted back to the dining cabin quickly enough for her to be out of earshot.

"No," I say firmly, doing my best to hold his gaze. "You know this can never be. Why make it more difficult than it already is?"

"Because I want to. We're not in the Capitol yet."

"You're not from the Capitol, Cato. You can't always have what you want."

"Says who?"

"Says logic, reason, and me. You're doing this on purpose. You're deliberately trying to wind me up and make this never-ending nightmare even worse. Why do you trust me anyway? We're both tributes in the same Hunger Games now. I'm your enemy. How do you know I'm not planning to cut you to shreds as soon as we get in the arena like I will the other tributes?"

"I'd like to see you try. The Capitol would remember that fight for centuries," he replies, calmly for once, showing no sign of losing his famous temper. For the second time in as many hours I wish he would. If he did then I'm sure I'd find it a whole lot easier to leave and go to my own room.

"How do you know that I won't try?"

"I know you. Better than you know yourself. I don't know what will happen when the other twenty-two are dead any more than you do, but we're not even going to the arena for another five days. Can't we think about what can never be when we get there?"

He's always been able to do this to me. Ever since we were children, he's always been able to talk me around to his way of thinking with his own unique brand of slightly warped logic in a way that nobody else ever could, and as I look up at him I find myself wanting to give in once more. But not this time. With all that's happened today and all that will undoubtedly happen over the next few weeks, this would be one time too many. I take a deep breath and begin to walk away.

"Not this time, Cato. I can't compete in the Games and deal with this. Whatever was between us is dead."

I open the door slightly, feeling more than a little bit surprised that he's accepted both my decision and my lie so easily, when the handle is forced roughly from my hand as the door slams shut. He keeps one hand firmly on the door and the other on the wall to the other side of my head so that I can't move, leaning forward to whisper into my ear.

"Look me in the eye and say that."

The wooden door has been carved as intricately as its handle, and I follow the leaf design from one side to the other for a minute, knowing that for once in my life I'll have to find the strength to leave. I turn to face him with every intention of meeting his gaze and steadily repeating my words, but as I do, my eyes focus firstly on his silver district token and then on the scar that it rests over, just above his heart. The scar he got because he was fighting for me. Before I even raise my head I realise I've already lost.

"I can't…"

* * *

"How can she possibly be dangerous?" he asks incredulously.

We've been discussing the other reapings since well before the dawn light that now shines through the windows started to appear, trying to think of as many possible strategies as we can, changing them slightly each time to fit in with different variations in alliances and arena conditions, neither of us bringing up the subject of what the strategy will be when all of the others are dead. I had just raised the subject of the girl from 5, and I'm not entirely shocked that Cato doesn't share my opinion.

"She just is." I reply, starting to get annoyed that nobody will take me seriously when I say that this girl is one who should be watched. "She was terrified but she managed to hide it."

"So she's a good actress. Is that all?" He sighs and then continues in a greatly exaggerated long-suffering tone of voice. "If it makes you feel better then I'll make a special effort to kill her at the Cornucopia."

"I am quite capable of killing her myself, thank you," I hiss angrily. He obviously still doesn't believe me. "Have I ever needed you to fight my battles for me?"

He only laughs and starts to trace the pattern of the scars on my back with the tip of his finger, making me shiver and thoroughly distracting me from my rapidly building temper, which was no doubt his intention.

"I should go," I say somewhat reluctantly a couple of minutes later. "We can't be far from the Capitol now."

"Stay."

"You know I can't."

I get up, dress and leave the room as quickly and silently as I can, breathing a sigh of relief when I approach the door to my own cabin that I haven't even seen inside yet without being noticed.

It looks like I'll have to wait a bit longer to see it though, because I'm just about to open the door when I hear the sound of another door opening. I manage to spin around to face the opposite direction, hoping that it will look like I've just left my room, when Selene swoops into the corridor, smiling her familiar artificial smile when she sees me.

"I'm used to getting up early," I say in answer to her unspoken question, deciding eventually that she looks relatively convinced and not at all suspicious.

"People from District 2 always are. It's the same every year. So uncivilised…"

That's coming from a woman who actively participates in an event that essentially involves making twenty-four young people fight each other to the death. She still thinks she can call my district uncivilised? Unbelievable. I decide to change the subject to something useful.

"When will we get to the Capitol?"

"Not long now. Only a couple of hours. Don't worry, there will be plenty of time for your stylists to work their magic."

My heart sinks at Selene's words and when I look down at my hands, I notice they're trembling slightly. Stylists. The Remake Centre. I can't even bear the thought of it. Most tributes fear the arena, or if they can't even begin to comprehend thoughts of their own deaths then they fear the Opening Ceremony or the interviews, but it's the very mention of the Remake Centre that makes my blood run cold.

I have never, apart from an obvious irrational exception, tolerated physical contact from anyone, a well known fact in District 2 since the day that the last person who presumed he could put his hands on me ended up going up in flames on a funeral pyre the very next morning. The thought of having to undress in front of the prep team and submit to their ministrations as they attempt to transform me into what the Capitol call beautiful fills me with an unfamiliar feeling of dread.

Before we both ended up at the same Games, Cato used to tease me about it, saying that he's going to get the rich people who come to bet on our training bouts to put money on how many of my prep team will live to see the Opening Ceremony. I used to laugh, saying that if I don't kill them then they'll probably transform me so greatly that he won't recognise me, describing how I'll end up looking like a person who bears a striking resemblance to the girl from 1 and getting a satisfyingly convincing expression of disgust in return.

Not now though. Everything seems more serious since the fateful day of the reaping, and I think we both know that with our emotions as stretched as they are, it will be very difficult for me to stop myself from seeing red and lashing out without thinking. Why do they have to put us through the torture of the Opening Ceremony anyway? I'm here to kill the other tributes in the arena. Does it really matter what I look like?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

As Selene promised, a little over two hours after I saw her in the corridor of the train, I find myself in the Capitol, staring up at the strangest building I have ever seen. The Remake Centre, with its extraordinary white frame that appears to be supporting a building made entirely of glass, is like everything and everyone I've seen since I stepped off the train to face the hoards of reporters for the second time: over-sized, over-dramatic and totally unfamiliar. I've seen the building on the television, of course, but that could never have prepared me for the scene that's before me now.

I can see a large number of people running around frantically inside the building and a camera crew leaning precariously over one of the balconies to capture every second of our arrival, but they are not what holds my attention. Gathered outside the front of the Remake Centre are well over a hundred people, all pushing and shoving one another in an attempt to get closer to the front so they have a better view. At first I think they are yet more reporters, but as I look closer I notice that they don't look or sound the same as either the people firing questions at me as we left District 2 or those who were waiting for us when the train pulled up to the platform.

Everyone in the Capitol has more money and a greater amount of material possessions than the people from the districts, but there are varying degrees of wealth here just like there are everywhere else. Judging from the appearance of those who I have seen today anyway, I can say with confidence that the standard Capitol reporter doesn't fall into the category of being rich and privileged, but the mob of people who are jostling for position only a few metres from where I stand most definitely do. I can see the extravagant jewellery they're all wearing sparkling in the sun, each and every one of them groomed and dressed to perfection. These are the scions of the Capitol's wealthiest families, the ones who take a special interest in the Games, the young men and women who will be providing a lot of the sponsorship money. Despite my low opinion of them, we will need their support before the end I'm sure, so I turn to face them and hope that Cato does the same.

As I face them I listen to what they are saying for the first time, hearing many shouts of my name. That surprises me, as I hadn't thought they would have bothered to look up such trivial information in the programmes that virtually all of them are carrying, programmes which, incidentally, probably cost the same amount of money as would be needed to feed the entire population of the District 2 Training Centre for a week. I struggle to hide my shock at some of the things the young men shout to me, which make me torn between the conflicting reactions of blushing like a pathetic little girl and walking over to them and making sure they'd never be able to act on any of their suggestions ever again. What makes them think that they have the right to talk to me like that? Nobody in District 2 would dare to and I want nothing more than to teach these spoiled little brats exactly why they wouldn't. 'Think of the sponsorship money, Clove', I say to myself over and over again, trying desperately to keep the temper I am rapidly losing.

The crowd surges forwards, pushing Cato closer to me, and I can tell the exact moment that he stops to listen to the crowd because his whole body tenses in exactly the same way I've seen hundreds of times before - just before he steps into the ring to fight in the gymnasium at home. When I turn to look at him, the expression of total fury on his face is what makes me regain my self-control and begin to smile. He must sense my gaze because he looks down at me immediately and speaks in a low voice that I hope won't register on the cameras.

"I'm going to kill them all. Right now. As slowly and painfully as I possibly can."

"Knives, sword or mace?" I ask with a smile, secretly pleased by his response at the same time as not being entirely convinced that he isn't defending his territory as much as he is my honour.

"Who said anything about needing weapons?"

I laugh as I answer him, turning away in an attempt to convince the audience I'm laughing at the crowd rather than at the comment of the man who stands beside me.

"You can't really, Cato. I hardly think the Capitol would approve, and besides, we need their sponsorship money," I reply airily, when inside I would love to kill them myself.

Suddenly Vikus appears in the doorway of the Remake Centre, gesturing for us to follow him inside. I obey with a final very fake smile in the direction of the crowd, looking behind me for long enough to see Cato glare at them before he follows.

* * *

"This way," instructs Vikus, looking in Cato's direction rather than mine. "All of this performance will be over soon and the real Games will begin."

I can't see anybody else who looks familiar or even seems to notice my presence, so I follow behind Vikus and Cato as they set off down a long and clinical looking white-walled corridor. I've decided already that I don't like the Capitol. Back home in District 2, when I walk into a room, everybody notices. Some of them stare at me in silence, a lot of them back away and look at the floor, and only a tiny number of them dare to approach me, but everybody always notices. Here in the Capitol I could be invisible and I can't stand it. As I walk, I watch the stylists and prep teams dashing frantically around making sure that everything is in place, not a single one of them acknowledging my presence. That will change soon. One way or another, the Capitol will never forget this year's tributes from District 2.

That thought comforts me enough so that the next time I look up I'm looking for a specific person. Claudius has dressed the female tribute from my district for at least as long as I have watched the Hunger Games, and while he hasn't got it exactly right every year, I've only witnessed one total disaster.

Despite that though, when I think about whatever it may be that he's got planned for me, the emotion I feel is so unfamiliar that I have to think for a second what it means. When it hits me that what I feel is nervousness, I start to get annoyed with myself. What's the point of being nervous? He's here to do what he's been trained for just like I am. Claudius must know the way things are by now even if, like all of the Capitol people I've seen so far, he refuses to admit it even to himself. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice, would he? If he does…no, but he wouldn't, not after what happened last time.

I remember the girl's face very clearly even though I had only been eight or nine years old when she had been sent to the Capitol. I remember her long golden blonde hair, which was much like that of this year's District 1 girl, and her perfect figure, her skin flawless despite years of hard training. She'd been a fighter just like I am, a proper Career Tribute, but Claudius had dressed her up in a pink fluffy dress like a princess from some ancient fairy tale. Her previously fearsome reputation forgotten by most people back home, she swiftly became the laughing stock of District 2 and just as quickly found in the arena that the other tributes had no fear of her, seeing her as a weak and pitiable young girl even without the frilly dresses. She'd been unable to come back from that and had been the first District 2 tribute to die at the Cornucopia on day one of the Games for many years. I may have next to no power here but I'm determined to do everything I can to make sure I don't suffer the same fate.

Suddenly Vikus stops in front of a plain white door, turning to face Cato and me as he pushes it open.

"Go inside and wait." I step forward but he lifts his arm to block my path. "Not you, Clove. Augustus should have been there to escort you down the other corridor but he did his usual disappearing act so I'll have to take you there myself."

"I'm sure I can find my own way," I reply. This place is getting boring now. All I've done is stand around dreading the day to come since the train pulled into the station first thing this morning, and I'm starting to miss the distraction of training.

"Can I trust you to walk back down the corridor and wait for Augustus by the entrance?"

"What do you mean by that? I'm not five years old. I think I can make it a few metres down a corridor on my own."

"Without involving yourself in some sort of confrontation?" he says sternly. "You might be the pride of our district in the Arena but I've been dreading bringing the pair of you to the Capitol since you almost destroyed the Training Centre as children. Children, you were, and I can still remember the devastation now."

Vikus has many great strengths and many great weaknesses, and very often, people don't agree which category certain aspects of his personality fall into. It is widely whispered that he is incapable of love, but I have never agreed. One thing that can never be denied is that he loves our Training Centre and all it stands for more than anything else in the world. Which is why he has never forgotten the damage that Cato and I had caused when we were attempting to settle our differences on the day we first met.

My eyes meet Cato's for a second and I can tell that he's remembering that day just as I am. I don't really want to leave, finally shamefully admitting to myself that I want nothing more than to hide behind my lover until the whole Remake Centre nightmare is over, but I reply to Vikus anyway, knowing that the sooner I see the prep team the sooner I will be able to stop seeing them.

"I promise I won't attack anybody," I say solemnly, before changing the tone of my voice entirely to continue, "Do you really think I'm that stupid, Vikus? I know better than to argue with the Capitol."

"My request that you save all…altercations…for the arena extends to your other mentor too. Make sure you don't forget."

"But he won't be in the arena. That means I may find I have to take the opportunity to do Panem a great service and get rid of Augustus while I have the chance."

"Clove," is the only answer that I get, his voice so full of warning that he doesn't think he needs to say any more.

At this stage of the Games I agree with him, though I think we both know my compliance won't last for long. I spin on my heel and set off back down the corridor without looking back.

Nobody I pass in the short time it takes me to get back to the main doors has time to pay me any attention at all, no doubt all preoccupied by the imminent arrival of their tributes. I only slow my stride once, to stare after a man who seems to have dyed his skin a pale gold colour that shimmers in the artificial lighting of the corridor. Maybe he wouldn't have looked quite so ridiculous if he hadn't decided that the look needed a long and flowing pink robe to finish it off. There is a saying in District 2 that not even vast amounts of money can buy sense and good taste, and the truth of it has been confirmed to me in a matter of hours.

As I take the final couple of steps into the vast entrance hall, I notice that the so-called competition has started to arrive. A pair of tributes who can only be described as lost and frightened children are being shepherded across the room by their mentors, but they quickly become separated, unable to fight their way through the steady stream of stylists, assistants and other assorted Capitol people. They must be District 3.

If I'd still been at home then I would have considered them to be beneath my notice, but here it's different. Here I have the chance to defeat two of the tributes before I even get in the arena and I mustn't waste such an opportunity. I slide effortlessly through the crowd to where they stand, pressed up against the far wall, clearly too intimidated by the mass of people to even attempt to rejoin their mentors. To start with I don't speak but merely look at them, my expression deliberately hard and emotionless. The girl can't meet my eyes for even a second, and while the boy does a little better, very soon he is staring down at his feet too.

"Did you say goodbye to your families when you left home?" I ask, using the same falsely gentle voice that confused Lucius so much the last time I saw him in the square at the reaping. The girl raises her eyes to meet mine for a split second before returning her focus to the floor once more.

"Of course I did," she mumbles, her voice so quiet I can barely hear her.

"Good," I reply. "It must be difficult for you to know you'll never see them again."

"Who are you?" asks the boy, obviously attempting to sound a lot braver than he feels. Considering that he still can't look at me, has his hands in his pockets and is nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another, I don't think his acting skills are really up to much.

"The last person you will ever see."

At that moment the mentors reappear and reclaim their charges immediately, pushing them back through the crowd, glancing uneasily at me as they go. Disappointed that my source of entertainment has been so unceremoniously taken away, I look around for Augustus. There's no sign of him so I have no choice but to stand and wait.

After a few minutes I start to get bored again and walk back across the hall so I can at least look out of the windows to see what's happening outside. I'm surprised to see Augustus standing by the doors, talking casually to a couple of reporters, female of course, as if he has all the time in the world. Having said that, I don't think I should be so much surprised at his actions but more that the Capitol women are willing to give him the time of day. Yes, according to many he is reasonably attractive, and like most of my district's previous victors, his many years of training have done him no harm at all, but surely it only takes a few seconds in his company for people to work out that the drawbacks of his obnoxious personality greatly exceed any of the supposed visual benefits?

* * *

However the reporters are seemingly even less intelligent than I thought, because it takes over half an hour for them to leave and for District 2's second mentor to make his way to where I stand, leaning against the wall and trying to look impatient. It doesn't take much effort.

"I don't think the Capitol girls would lower themselves to your level, Augustus," I say as he approaches me, looking me up and down in an all too familiar way that makes my skin crawl every time.

"Does that mean I'll have to make do with you, Clove?" he asks, undressing me with his eyes in that way that makes Cato want to kill him and me want to fight him for the privilege.

He can never resist, he just cannot seem to stop himself from provoking me. I suppose it's worse because I have been forced to associate with him for so many years. It's given him more than enough opportunity to learn exactly what aggravates me most.

"It'll be the last thing you ever do if you try," I hiss, keeping my voice low so none of the people who are still streaming past us can hear.

"Come on, Clove. You're powerless here and you know it. What could you do about it if I did? If you tried then I would simply say it was an unprovoked attack by a tribute driven insane by the prospect of the arena and the Capitol would either do nothing or execute you."

"Doesn't it tell you something that I would prefer execution to letting you touch me. And anyway, the Capitol refuse to acknowledge the existence of Career Tributes. Are you really going to stand up and announce to the world that you were attacked by a feeble little girl like me? It wouldn't do your reputation much good, would it? Do you think those pretty reporters would talk to you then?"

The look on his face on hearing my last question tells me all I need to know. Victory for Clove, in round one at least. He looks about ready to explode as he turns sharply on his heel and storms off down the corridor.

"It's this way," he growls, refusing to look at me.

I walk as far behind my hated mentor as I can without losing sight of him and getting lost. I'm relieved when it doesn't take long to reach what appears to be my final destination, a small room that contains nothing but a small black table and a cubicle. On closer inspection, the latter proves to have all four sides covered in mirrored glass on the inside. This doesn't look good, therefore, as I dread to think what unspeakable tortures the prep team will have envisaged for me, I spend the short time that I remain alone in the room trying not to think at all.

My solitude doesn't last for long though, and seconds later I find myself surrounded by a small group of alarmingly coloured Capitol people who start to swarm around me like insects. The comparison continues to me feeling the same urge to swat at them to make them leave me alone. My panic level only grows as they move closer, pushing and pulling me like I'm an object rather than a person. I can feel the anger rising up inside me in response to being degraded in such a way, and I know I'll lash out without thinking if I don't calm down.

The only person who truly understands how much I'm dreading this part of the Games, how much I detest even the thought of the prep team touching me, is Cato, and I try to focus on what he told me. He said to imagine that I'm in the ring back home, that I should block them from my mind just as I would anything else that could distract me from my opponent.

Curiously, when I stare at the plain white wall ahead of me, drawing a picture of an imaginary enemy in my mind, it's the boy from District 1 I see. Imagining myself using my knife to erase the arrogant smile from his face makes me feel considerably better. That is until a tall and incredibly thin man who has hair as pink as Selene's reaping day outfit pulls the belt from around my waist and lifts the red fabric of my tunic up as if to remove it.

I jump back, sending the woman who was standing behind me flying across the room. She makes a high pitched squeal as she crashes against the wall but I ignore her, spinning around to face the man who dared to think he had the right to touch me. Nobody has the _right _to touch me and only one person has my consent.

'But he does have the right to touch you, Clove' says the quiet voice of reason in my head, 'you've always known what was going to happen here'. 'Yes,' I answer myself, 'but it was far easier to accept when I could imagine myself going back home victorious with Cato by my side'. Great, I've only been in here for about half an hour and I'm losing it already. Not only am I talking to myself, I'm having an argument as well.

The pink haired man meets my gaze steadily, and I notice for the first time that there seems to be more going on behind those strange golden eyes than I would expect from one of his kind. Even as I stand there, my arms slightly outstretched at my sides with my fists firmly clenched, I realise how futile it is to protest. I can't help the way I react but I have to be sensible. This is the Capitol, I have no choice but to do this, or should I say 'to let this happen to me'. As long as I look like a District 2 tribute should look by the end of it then that is all that matters.

I turn to face the unfortunate woman who has just picked herself up off the floor and is frantically trying to rearrange her now very dishevelled snow white hair. I still have my pride and refuse to apologise but I shrug my shoulders slightly, speaking in as calm a voice as I can manage.

"If it is absolutely essential then I am quite capable of undressing myself," I say, lifting my tunic over my head and attempting to do something that has never normally been necessary, which is to totally hide my emotions. They will not see how hard this is for me, not even for a second.

"Go and stand in there," says the woman who I didn't nearly knock out, pointing to the mirrored cubicle.

It's a hard thing to do but I make myself obey her, crossing the short distance to stand in the centre of the mirrors so I can see my reflection from all angles. I instinctively cross my arms across my chest and I immediately get the impression that none of the prep team are brave enough at this stage to make me lower them. I have no idea why until I see my face in the mirror. If looks could kill then they would all be dead already.

As the prep team run around the outside of the tiny cubicle, screeching to each other in a jumble of words that is so unintelligible it sounds like they're speaking a foreign language, I stare at my reflection. The way the mirrors are angled gives the impression that there are thousands of me standing in this tiny space if I look in some directions and only one of me if I look another way. The whole thing is more than a bit disconcerting really.

I am as critical of myself as ever when I study the person staring back at me. It's many years of training that have shaped my body more than anything else, making my muscles toned and my skin criss-crossed with scars. I don't especially like what I see, I never have, but it somehow seems wrong to be over-critical of a body that has done everything I've ever asked of it and hasn't ever let me down.

A few minutes later I suddenly realise that the previously incessant screeching and whining of my prep team has stopped and that they are now standing staring at each other rather than at me. The man, who appears to be well and truly in charge of the other two, is the first one to speak.

"Well, she's a bit small. Last year's look would never have worked," he adds with a laugh. "I don't think she'd have been a very convincing gladiatrix from the tales of old, do you?"

The others join in his laughter and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from saying or doing something I would probably be forced to regret later. I might be small for a Career but strength isn't everything. If he knew how many would-be-tributes had spent weeks in the hospital room because of me, if he knew that it was me who Vikus made the others fight if he thought they were getting overconfident, if he knew that I haven't been defeated in single combat in years by anyone other than my own undefeated mentor and Cato, who doesn't really count anyway since I soon got him back the next time, then he wouldn't be so quick to judge. He'll change his attitude when I come back from the arena. When he sees the fate of the other tributes he will soon see things differently.

"And she has so many scars," says the one with the white hair. "it's the same every year. I've said so many times that they should give us enough time to get them removed."

"No! You can't! I won't let you!"

It takes me a second to realise I was the one who shouted those words, and I'm actually almost as shocked by the force of emotion behind my protest as the prep team, all of whom have taken at least three steps away from my mirrored cage. You could cut the atmosphere in the room with a knife until I take a deep breath and truly take in the expressions on their faces. Then I smile, in response to how anxious they look rather than because I feel any calmer, and they visibly relax, stepping forward to the mirrors once more.

Have these people not been dressing District 2 for years? Surely they know who and what I am and therefore know not to expect a trembling and petrified child? And yet here they are, the two women at least blatantly showing their fear in response to my slightest reaction. All this when I'm not even in a position to make the effort to be intimidating because I'm too much of an emotional wreck to have the energy.

It will be if they try to get my scars removed that they'll see intimidating. My scars are part of me, they tell the story of what made an undersized and recently orphaned twelve-year-old daughter of a past Hunger Games victor into the formidable fighter I am today, and for some reason I can't begin to explain, I don't want to go into the arena without them.

I still don't know the names of the people who make up my prep team, and to be honest I don't really care. In my head I already refer to them by their hair colour and I decide, as they all begin to circle me once more, that I may as well stick to that. To do anything else would involve engaging them in conversation and I just can't bear the thought of it.

The most outrageous looking of the two women, 'White Hair', comes to a standstill behind me and I can sense her staring at my back, which is blanketed with very different and much less random scars, left as a permanent reminder of my many punishments for past indiscretions at the Training Centre. I wonder what the prep team would say if they knew why I have them? I'm sure they would see it as yet another indication of the barbaric culture of the districts, but in my opinion they could have been a whole lot worse. If Vikus knew about half of mine and Cato's exploits in the outside world of District 2 and the number of times that we scaled the outer wall of the Training Centre then I can say with absolute certainty that it wouldn't just be my back that bears the scars. I would have been flayed to within an inch of my life on more than one occasion.

"If you win the Games then you'll have to let us remove them. You couldn't possibly be sent to your Victor's Interview looking like a District 12 street urchin," says White Hair finally. I can see the exact moment that inspiration hits her and she continues with an expression of triumph on her deathly pale face. "I would have thought you'd want us to have them taken away. You'll never get a man looking like that."

Her face suddenly goes blank then, before triumph is quickly replaced by confusion when she sees that my only response is to laugh.

* * *

The torment that continues for the next few hours is harder for me to endure than I ever imagined it would be. In fact I had, only minutes before, arrived at the conclusion that I would rather fight every single would-be-tribute in District 2 all at the same time than suffer the attentions of the prep team for a moment longer when my salvation arrives in the form of a mirror. It's held up for me by a very smug looking Pink Hair, who announces that I'm finally ready to be seen by the stylist.

"You might be too small for a District 2 tribute but you are so much prettier than last year's girl," he says.

I am at once insulted and worried at the same time. I can't see how a person with pink hair and almost orange skin calling me pretty could ever be a good thing, and from what little I remember about the ill-fated girl from last year, I think this year's boy from District 1 would probably win more beauty contests so his words are really no great compliment. I reach out for the mirror with my eyes firmly shut, not wanting to see what they've done to me. I wonder if this is how many of the tributes will feel in the arena? Knowing their fate is unavoidable but remaining too afraid to look. Probably, and it's the thought that I could be in any way similar to them that makes me open my eyes to see exactly who is staring back at me through the mirror.

What I see shocks me every bit as much as I predicted, but not in the way I imagined. Looking into my seemingly enlarged silver-grey eyes, I realise that this is the closest I will ever get to having a 'Capitol makeover' without them resorting to surgery. I know exactly how much makeup I have on because I've sat and endured its application for well over three hours, but to look at me now I could just be wearing dark eye liner, mascara and some bright red lipstick, which stands out so vividly against my pale and now totally flawless skin. Obviously black eyes are not as difficult to remove as Selene would have had me believe. I look like me but with all of the imperfections imperceptibly removed, and I feel my mood lift for the first time since I left Cato's room this morning.

A few minutes later I draw my attention away from the mirror when I notice that, for the first time ever, the prep team are completely silent. They're all staring at each other as if none of them wants to be the first to move.

"What's the problem? I can't go through the Opening Parade in a robe," I ask boldly, my bravado returning in full force now I'm able to wear the aforementioned robe and I know they haven't made me look totally ridiculous.

The man, who is still known to me only as 'Pink Hair', narrows his eyes at me from behind his curtain of hair. "Remember to whom you are talking and where you are, girl. You're not in the districts now."

I inwardly groan with exasperation. Why can these stupid people never answer a simple question with a straight answer? I glare at him but resist the temptation to ask again. Someone will speak eventually. I can just tell they're bursting to start gossiping and I'm sure that they won't let a minor insignificant detail like my presence stop them for long.

"Go and fetch him then," says Pink Hair to the least offensive of my tormentors, a green-haired woman who seems a lot younger than the other two. Maybe she's new to the job and that's why he thinks he can boss her around.

Instead of instantly obeying, which from the expression on Pink Hair's face was clearly the response that was both expected and desired, she leans across to whisper into my ear far too loudly for what she says to be confidential. I resist the urge to back away as her hand touches my bare shoulder.

"Ambrosius is new to this job," she says, her voice full of derision for the person who it seems will control whether I'm remembered by my potential sponsors for positive or negative reasons. "He has always dressed tributes from very inferior districts in the past, but that is before Claudius fell out of favour."

"I was half expecting Claudius," I whisper back mildly, warming to her slightly at her inference that my district is what she would call superior. "He's dressed District 2 for years."

"Until he served the first course at his dinner party before President Snow arrived," she says, lowering her voice even more before continuing, her words coming out in a frantic rush. "How was Claudius to know that the President was planning to attend? He had no warning. Highly offended, the President was. Took it as a personal insult. So much so that he had Claudius demoted. Demoted to District 5, would you believe?"

She makes her opinion of the laboratory district perfectly obvious by her tone of voice. Definitely not one of the superior ones then.

I try to look interested as she speaks, nodding in what I hope are the right places when I'm really wishing, for what seems like the millionth time in a few short days, that they would just hurry up and get on with it.

Eventually the green-haired gossiper seems to arrive at a decision and, now accepting of her fate, she rises to her feet and heads for the door.

"Very well, I will fetch him," she says, "Although what he's going to make of her is anyone's guess."

* * *

Ambrosius appears shortly afterwards, and I'm surprised to see that while still outrageous in appearance by my usual standards, he looks almost normal compared to most of the other people I have seen since entering the Remake Centre. In fact, Ambrosius is not what I expected at all. I suppose that because I'd expected Claudius, I'd expected a stereotypical Capitol stylist, someone so self- absorbed that they pay me very little attention and treat me with the casual indifference many Capitol citizens apply to those from the districts.

What I have is very different. I quickly notice that what eccentricity my stylist lacks in his appearance is more than made up for in his manner, as he seems to not only be talking to himself but actually having a conversation. It takes him several minutes to focus on me and when he does I definitely see more than a hint of apprehension in his eyes that could even be described as fear.

The prep team begin to swarm around me again but this time I'm prepared for them. I push them away quickly and walk resolutely over to the mirrored cubicle, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes before shrugging off the robe so it pools on the floor at my feet in a mass of fine purple silk.

Ambrosius stares at me for what feels like all eternity, sometimes standing still and other times walking in small circles around what I have come to think of as my cage. I get the impression that he sees a half finished painting that needs to be completed rather than a person, which is something of a relief after hours of forcing myself to resist killing my prep team simply to put an end to their derogatory comments and critical remarks. Eventually he pulls back one of the mirrors and stands directly in front of me. He looks down at me and his large pale blue eyes meet mine for a few seconds, his gaze remaining as distant as ever until he loses his composure and looks away.

He begins to turn away in the direction of my waiting tormentors but then abruptly returns to face me again, and I'm temporarily too stunned to move when he reaches out his hand to trace the line of the thick scar that runs all the way across my stomach. However my shock doesn't last for long, and a split second later I take a rapid step backwards, putting as much distance between us as possible in the confines of the tiny cubicle.

His touch was as cold and impersonal as his stare, and I quickly realise he wasn't the only reason why I reacted like that. I reacted the way I did partly because of the memory his action brought back. I suddenly pictured Cato making same gesture, as he has so many times before, and I pictured him as clearly as if he were standing right next to me. I can say with absolute certainty that if I'm going to get through the Opening Ceremony without disgracing District 2 then he's the last person I should be thinking about.

"I'm sorry," says Ambrosius quietly, snapping me out of my reverie immediately. "I've never seen a scar like that. I'm surprised the wound didn't kill you."

Why is a Capitol person apologising to me? Maybe there is finally someone who acknowledges reality? There's a first time for everything I suppose, but it still doesn't sound right.

I'm tempted to tell him the truth behind how I got that wound, how Vikus had decided to teach my vastly overconfident fifteen-year-old self that she was not invincible by taking me into the Arena himself. I learned my lesson quickly enough and to this day the first thing I remember after stepping onto the sand next to my mentor is waking up in the hospital room and seeing Cato in the adjacent bed.

I later found out that my soon-to-be lover had objected to my previously unheard of treatment by challenging Vikus himself, and despite the fact that he ended up sharing my fate shortly after, it is something I've never forgotten. The outcome of both battles would be very different now and I think my mentor knows that as well as I do.

"We can't simply have our scars removed like you can here," I reply. "It looks worse now than the actual wound did." Another lie. One of many I have told today.

He nods and walks across the room, taking a bundle of shimmering silver material from the arms of a patiently waiting Avox. So this is the dress. I can't see it properly yet but at least it's not pink and fluffy. It's a good start.

Ambrosius shakes the bundle with a dramatic flourish and it unfolds into a long dress which has a problem that stands out to me immediately. That problem is that it only looks half finished, with a split all the way down one side. He doesn't expect me to leave the room like that, does he? I had assumed and, if I am honest, been hoping that they would be saving blatant sexuality for District 1 this year.

However my reprieve comes seconds later when Ambrosius crosses the room and puts the dress over my head.

"I can't finish it until you're wearing it," he says. "The fabric doesn't stretch enough so I will have to sew the side now."

So that is how I pass the next hour, standing on a table in the middle of the room while my stylist slowly stitches me into the metallic silver dress. Every time I slouch even slightly, one of the prep team runs frantically forwards and tries to poke me to make me stand up straight. I'm ashamed to say that after only a very short time I take to slouching in a very exaggerated fashion before stepping swiftly out of their reach as soon as they get close enough to touch me. Years and years of training has given me reflexes that are at least a hundred times better than theirs and I carry on tormenting them until Ambrosius 'accidentally' drives his needle into my side and glares at me.

"If you don't keep still then your dress will never be finished in time and don't think for a second that I won't put you on the chariot without it."

What a fantastic time to acquire some confidence. That's just typical. He is convincing enough to make me keep still and perfectly upright until he announces that he's finished. His minions approach me and lift me from the table, placing me in front of the mirrors again so I can see the final completed transformation for the first time.

In a way the person I see in the mirror looks like me and in a way she doesn't. The metallic grey dress shines in the artificial light of the tiny room and it clings to my body with not an inch of fabric to spare from my neck down to my ankles. My first thought is that it's too tight, and I feel vaguely uncomfortable as I remember the suggestive comments shouted to me by the young men of the Capitol when I arrived at the gates of the Remake Centre this morning. That was when I was wearing my own simple tunic, so it's bound to be much worse if they're going to parade me through the streets looking like this.

I narrow my eyes as I continue to scrutinise my reflection, finding that the small part of me that isn't preoccupied with feeling intense rage at being degraded in such a blatant manner feels pleased with what I see for probably the first time ever. I grudgingly admit that it's mostly due to Ambrosius' styling that I feel that way. I don't think I've ever looked in proportion before but I do now. Still, whatever I look like, I can say with absolute certainty that it wasn't worth what I have been through. I shiver at the memory of the past few hours and stare straight ahead of me, determined to remain emotionless, on the outside at least.

Then Ambrosius appears in the mirror behind me.

"It's time. The Capitol is waiting."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"You can tell me I look amazing as many times as you like, but it doesn't change the fact that I can't walk!" I shout for what seems like the thousandth time, continuing despite the fact that my increasingly vociferous protests appear to be falling on deaf ears. Ambrosius ignores me once more and I eventually snap. "Listen to me!"

"So the fabric doesn't give as much as I thought it would. It's not like you have to walk far," he says dismissively, but he's looking at me all the same.

The first emotion I feel is relief that he's finally listening to me and responding. I desperately want to scream at him, but I force myself to keep calm when I answer. Making the effort that way feels strange. If I'd gone through all I've been through today and been at home, then this ignorant, foolish man would have long since had a knife at his throat by now.

"I may not need to walk far but how do you expect me to keep my balance in a tiny little chariot all the way from here to the Training Centre like this?"

From the look on his face it's obvious that he hadn't thought about that one. It's a struggle not to roll my eyes at him, but then, before he even has time to speak, I have an idea.

"You will just have to manage. I can't change it now, it's too late," he says, but I barely hear him.

"Can't you cut the fabric at the side?" I ask, before quickly realising that I hate the slightly pleading tone in my voice.

I've never pleaded with anyone in my life and I'm not about to start now. I reach over for the pair of scissors that still lie on the table. I nearly touch them but Ambrosius snatches them out of the way before I can, his demeanour suddenly changing and reminding me in no uncertain terms which one of us is the privileged, unimaginably wealthy Capitol stylist and which is the virtual prisoner, controlled by the whims of a higher authority who could end their life with a click of their fingers. The sight of him makes me rapidly change my approach to the situation.

"Do you want me to fall off the chariot?" I snap. "We'll both be humiliated if I do."

"You look right as you are. Exactly the look I was aiming for," is the only answer I get, and I don't have time to speculate about what could have caused this alarming change in my stylist's temperament as the prep team group together and walk purposefully in my direction. I walk as best as I can towards the door, my pride deciding that I would rather jump than be pushed.

* * *

In all the years I've been imagining that first moment in the spotlight, where for a short time at least, the attention of every single person in the entire of Panem would be focussed solely on me, I never thought for a second that it would be like this. I imagined wearing the perfect dress, hearing the applause and cheering of the crowd as the District 2 chariot made its way through the streets of the epicentre of Panem's power. I imagined returning triumphantly to the Training Centre to find Cato waiting for me as my mentor, waiting to discuss the strategy that would help us to realise all of our dreams by enabling me to win the Games before carrying me to bed despite what I'm sure would be Selene's shocked disapproval.

But I never once imagined that I would be hobbling along a narrow corridor, struggling to put one foot in front of the other due to the complete incompetence of my stylist, while at the same time trying not to think about the fact that in less than a week's time, the whole of the Capitol is going to expect me to fight my lover to the death. Even as I try to stop myself from thinking too much about the future, something tells me that the true implications of the last couple of day's events haven't even begun to sink in yet.

It doesn't take long to get to the lift that will take me to meet what I'm sure is my impending doom, probably because I'm walking as quickly as the dress will let me so I can be rid of the prep team as soon as I possibly can. I'm determined not to spend a second longer in their company than is absolutely necessary. Every time I look at them, I can feel their hands on me. It makes me want to kill them, and whatever I'm thinking, this is still the Capitol. I can't do things like that here and get away with it.

I'm so intent on getting to my destination without falling flat on my face that as I turn the final corner, it takes me a couple of seconds to notice the figure standing in front of the lift doors. When I do see him, I stop dead and stare.

Due to the constant whispered sniping between the members of my prep team, which I refuse to involve myself in despite being given more than enough cause to, I'm surprised to see that Cato hasn't noticed our approach. He remains in the same position, seemingly staring unseeingly at the floor, his dark blue eyes unfocussed. I have to admit that his stylist has done a very good job, making him look every inch the Hunger Games victor, and I feel the same pride I felt on seeing him volunteer on reaping day suddenly return.

It's not like he looks that much different really. His tall and powerful figure that most people find so intimidating hasn't changed. But for some reason I can't explain, it's like I'm seeing him for the first time all over again. The prep team disappear down a different corridor and although I'm sure their absence is only temporary, I'm more relieved than I can say to see them go.

Cato looks up at me, his eyes meeting mine instantly as if he had known I was there all along and had been waiting for everyone else to leave. I feel my breath catch and after a few seconds I look away, suddenly embarrassed by what must be a very obvious and unusual display of emotion, mentally cursing myself for being so pathetic. It's not as if I haven't seen him every day for the past five years. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that there is still no sign of Vikus or the stylists and therefore nobody to see my reaction.

I walk the short distance to the lift doors to stand by his side, trying unsuccessfully to hide my dress problem. After a few steps I give up the pretence and admit the obvious.

"Look what they've done to me. I can't walk," I snarl, glaring down at the offending garment.

When Cato doesn't speak, I look up at him again.

"So?" he replies eventually, staring at me in a way that's most inappropriate given the circumstances.

I know exactly what he's thinking when he looks at me that way, and though it goes some way to washing away the memory of my day at the Remake Centre, he still shouldn't be thinking about me like that any more than I should be thinking like that about him.

"So, if I can't walk then I can't balance in the tiny little chariot, can I?" I say, deliberately ignoring the meaning behind his remark.

I walk closer to him and his eyes still follow me. "Couldn't your stylist alter it?" he asks half-heartedly, making it perfectly clear to me that his mind is still elsewhere and that I could have told him they were going to put me in the arena dressed like this and I would have got the same response.

I reach up and hit his upper arm, deliberately angling the ring I'm wearing so it cuts deeply into his skin. Unsurprisingly he doesn't even flinch, but it does at least seem to focus his attention.

"What was that for?" he asks. "Blame your stylist not me. If you wanted a conversation then you should have asked me before he put you in that dress."

"You should be concentrating on the Games, not on me. And just think of it as revenge," I say, raising my hand to my left eye before I remember that the bruise is no longer there. He smirks down at me, fully understanding my meaning despite the lack of a visual reminder, and I glare back as we briefly return to our normal selves in spite of the situation.

However that changes a second later when I hear the approaching sound of voices engaged in a frantic but whispered argument. I hurriedly take a step away from Cato, putting a more respectable distance between us just before Vikus and Ambrosius appear, closely followed by a petite and very thin woman who is dressed in the most outrageous outfit I have seen so far. It seems to consist of a dress made from hundreds of small, different coloured pieces of fabric all stitched together. It hurts my eyes to look at her.

As they get closer, Vikus strides ahead of Ambrosius, gesturing furiously at me, or should I say at the troublesome lower half of my dress that I have a horrible feeling is going to make me fall flat on my face in front of the whole of Panem a very short time from now. I should have known my mentor had been listening in. He somehow manages to find out about most of what goes on in District 2, so I was stupid to imagine it would be any different here. If it hadn't been for his last words to me then I would have expected Ambrosius to give in to Vikus instantly, but ever since our final conversation, I've begun to suspect that my stylist may not be as weak as he first appeared. He certainly shows no signs of conceding the point as we enter the lift and travel down to the waiting chariots, and they're still arguing when the lift bell rings and the doors slide open.

* * *

The first thing I see when the doors open is the huge gates that lead out of the Remake Centre. They are tightly shut at the moment, but I know the crowd are already waiting on the other side. The Capitol people spend most of their year looking forward to this and I can sense their eager anticipation in the noise coming from behind the gate, a buzzing that is so loud it reaches me even across the vast space of the courtyard.

We step out of the lift and stand just in front of it. Vikus is on my one side and Ambrosius the other, and their argument continues literally over my head, showing no sign of abating as neither is willing to give up without a fight. With a surreptitious glance at each of them in turn, I reach down and lift the hem of my dress, grabbing a handful of the fabric in each of my hands and pulling as hard as I can. I'm bitterly disappointed when it doesn't tear, and I feel my anger rise up inside me again despite or perhaps because of the smirk I sense is on Cato's face even if I can't see it. I look at Ambrosius and decide to have one more attempt to make him see reason.

"Can't you see how ridiculous and totally unnecessary this is?" I ask, speaking deliberately slowly and punctuating every word with a violent gesture at the offending dress.

He doesn't have the opportunity to answer me though, because the next thing I know we are surrounded by a vast number of the Capitol minions whose job it is to get all of the tributes onto the chariots. We're ushered towards a chariot drawn by four coal black horses and Cato climbs up easily, but when I go to follow him, I soon realise I can't lift my leg high enough to reach the step.

I don't think I've ever felt more humiliated than I do when Vikus has to lift me up and physically put me onto the chariot beside Cato. I jump away from my mentor as if he scalded me with boiling water, making the whole chariot rock precariously from side to side and earning me a series of glares from the Capitol people as a result. I scowl back at them before lifting my head to turn my famous death-stare on the rest of the assembled tributes, daring them to laugh at me. Nobody does.

"You're not an idiot, Clove. This is the Capitol. You know there's nothing more I can do and you have my sympathy," says Vikus, briefly sounding almost compassionate in an awkward sort of way before abruptly returning to his normal self and adding "but you don't want to know what will happen to you if you fall off that chariot."

At least I can always rely on the support of my ever-sympathetic mentor. Not that I would expect anything else. I've always expected him to treat me the exact same way as he would any other tribute, making no concessions for either my sex or the fact I'm about half the size of his average pupil, safe in the knowledge that I have the ability to repay him by earning that respect and winning any battle that I fight. I've earned his faith in me and despite whatever other issues are between us, in that respect at least, we've never let each other down.

Abruptly the chariot lurches forward and after that all I can think about is holding on, gripping the metal rail in front of me so tightly that my knuckles turn white. I have no idea how I'm going to make it all the way to the City Circle.

I release the breath I didn't know I was holding when the chariot only travels a short distance before coming to a halt beside District 1 and their snow white horses, and I rub my hands together to relieve my already cramping muscles. Now why couldn't we have had their stylists? They might be covered in silver body paint but at least they are virtually guaranteed to make it to the Training Centre still in the chariot, which is a whole lot more than can be said about me.

When I look across at them, I'm every bit as repulsed by District 1's male tribute now that I'm seeing him in person rather than on a television screen, and I watch him only for long enough to establish that he clearly hasn't the sense to watch anyone other the girl who stands beside him. All the better for me. Not only is he egotistical but he's stupid as well. My job in the arena will be almost too easy, at least as far as he's concerned.

However when I look at the object of his desire, I'm suddenly able to temporarily forget my wardrobe crisis as I struggle to maintain a straight face while laughing hysterically to myself on the inside. She is focussing her perfect emerald eyes on one person in particular every bit as strongly as her male counterpart, and that person is as oblivious to her as she is to her district partner.

So she thinks she can rely on her beauty to attract Cato's attention and therefore his protection in the arena? I look forward to seeing her try, especially considering the fact that despite her best efforts at flicking her faultless golden blonde hair and fluttering her equally flawless eyelashes, he hasn't looked at anyone but me since we got in the chariot. I look questioningly up at him, waiting for an explanation for the lack of attention he is giving to the chaos around him, but he doesn't speak.

"What is it?" I hiss eventually. "The Capitol want you to stare at them, not at me."

"I'd rather look at you. But I won't see you humiliated," he replies, so quietly that for a second I think I imagined his words.

"And what are you going to do exactly? We're enemies, remember. I am just one of the twenty-three people you can't wait to kill."

He doesn't reply, his expression changing in a split second from indifference to one of great anger as he takes a step to the side so he's almost standing behind me, pushing me roughly to the front of the chariot. Despite the situation and my struggle to keep my balance, my first instinct is still to push him back, but as I turn, I look up at the big screen that's mounted onto the wall of the Remake Centre and see that it is focussed on us. It suddenly becomes clear to me what he's trying to do, and not for the first time I think to myself that maybe he hasn't forgotten our façade as much as I think. I scowl at Cato as if I'm accusing him of taking up too much space in the chariot, hoping that my act will be enough to convince the audience that our whispered comments were an argument and that the Hunger Games commentary team can't lip read.

The camera very quickly moves on to show District 4 getting into line. As soon as it does, Cato puts a hand on either side of my waist and pulls me back so I'm leaning against him, providing me with a way of keeping my balance that will not involve me clinging to the front of the chariot with all my strength. I shiver with something that's a world away from fear, just like I always do when he touches me, but my eyes quickly scan the people surrounding us in panic. If they see the truth about us before we even get in the arena then we've got no chance. However I sigh with relief as I rapidly realise nobody is watching us. They are too worried about what they're doing to care about anybody else.

The instant I have both feet positioned as firmly as I can on the floor of the chariot, which isn't very due to the impossibly high heels that Ambrosius has forced me to wear, the Remake Centre gates are thrown open and our chariot lurches forwards, following in the wake of District 1.

I watch the first chariot disappear through the gates, and the blonde girl turns around for one final attempt to catch Cato's eye, but she quickly gives up and switches her attention to the adoring masses of people gathered outside. Not before our eyes meet though, and I smirk at her, telling her without words that I know what she's trying to do. Her eyes narrow for as long as it takes her to realise she's on camera and then the angelic smile returns, her expression altering so rapidly that I know it must be fake. At that moment, I decide that maybe the girl from 1 is acting nearly as much as I am.

Our chariot follows soon after, and as we pass through the enormous gates, the crowd roars so loudly that I'm suddenly deafened, totally unable to hear anything else but them. Unable to resist letting my satisfaction at overcoming my wardrobe crisis show, I look behind me and wave sarcastically at Vikus and Ambrosius, smiling smugly in their direction before turning to begin my first public performance.

Vikus appears to be as incensed by my lack of respect as ever, but Ambrosius' face is harder to read. If anything he looks relieved to see me able to let go of my death grip on the front rail of the chariot, although I have no idea why he should care. Perhaps he just doesn't want to be seen as a failure following his first opportunity to dress a tribute from a serious district. But when I look at him I can't suppress the feeling I get that tells me there's more to it than that. I guess I will never know the truth, but maybe there is. He's certainly the first Capitol person I've ever known apologise to a girl from the districts like me.

* * *

For the first time since I arrived here, I manage to succeed in blocking everything that's going on around me from my mind, letting it all pass me by in a blur of colours and painted faces. I wave and blow kisses to the crowd as that is what's expected of me, but I don't really see them. I concentrate on the rhythm of Cato's heart beating, the rise and fall of his chest against the back of my shoulders, both faster than usual as he also stares out into the vast, too-bright crowd. Ironically considering his temper, he calms me. He reminds me why we're really here, what these people have done to us. And that thought keeps the fixed expression on my face as we keep moving.

We've started to approach the City Circle itself by the time I return to myself, and I notice that the mass of incredibly rich-looking people who are gathered only a few short metres from the road the chariots are following are shouting tributes' names rather than district numbers. I look away when I vaguely recognise some of my tormentors from this morning, but not before I get a good look at them. From their elaborately decorated clothes and what I would call an excessive interest in the Games, I can tell these must be the people who pay a small fortune for the right to stand so close that they can actually see the tributes disappear through the Training Centre gates after President Snow has finished his speech. We must be nearly there, so I'm not surprised when I see District 1's chariot turn a corner at the end of the road.

As we turn the corner as well, I'm suddenly surrounded by the grandest buildings in the Capitol, which look bigger and more impressive than they ever looked on the television. The music and the crowd get even louder as we complete a full circuit of the vast City Circle and come to a halt before the Training Centre where we started. On the other side of the road where we came in stands President Snow's mansion, and my first thought is that the white stone building looks as cold and clinical as the man who lives there. I stare up at the balcony, expecting to see the deceptively unassuming looking white-haired old man who has absolute power over the whole country glaring down at me, but of him there is no sign.

Then my attention is drawn to the remaining chariots that are still passing along the road. As there is only District 1 in front of me, I have a better view than most of the audience, and I watch as a chariot drawn by four grey horses enters the City Circle. It must be District 10, easily identifiable because of the boy tribute's crippled leg. They've been painted so they appear to be made entirely of stone, the White King and Black Queen from a chess set, and now I've made it to the Training Centre despite my own restrictions, I don't envy them the weight of their costumes. Their presence reassures me though. They look so young and vulnerable despite their regal dress and I know they'll have no chance in the arena.

When District 11 appears, I can't help but laugh at the contrast between the two tributes. Never before have I seen a more mismatched pair, the tiny girl who looks like she should still be at home by her mother's side and the enormously powerful man, who, like Cato, looks too old to be eligible for the Games. I feel Cato shift his weight behind me and I know he's thinking about fighting the man from District 11.

"He won't be able to fight but he's strong. It might be sensible to ally with him before you kill him," I say in my best light but almost mocking voice, unsure whether he'll hear me over the raucous noise of the music and the crowd despite how close we are.

"District 11?" he replies incredulously. "What use could he possibly be?"

I smile even though I know he can't see my face, suddenly understanding the true emotion hidden behind his questions. "You're just annoyed that there's someone in the Games who might be stronger than you," I tease, as unable to resist winding him up as ever. "Besides, I'd rather you leave him alive. If District 1 has her way then I'll need a new ally soon and I think he's probably my best bet. Actually, I might not wait until we get to the arena…"

I sense his reaction to my comments and I'm not surprised when he grabs my arm and grips my wrist so hard that I'm sure I will have bruises later. "Never," he whispers in a low voice that I barely hear, and I'm not sure if he means that he'll never allow me to ally with District 11 or that he'll never have anything to do with District 1. Knowing Cato as I do, I imagine he probably means both.

Then a loud gasp from the crowd indicates the arrival of the final chariot, and I finally get to see with my own eyes what I've previously only caught glimpses of on the television screens that lined our route through the city. District 12. The poorest and most scorned district in Panem, and yet here they are, the fair-haired boy and the dark-haired girl, wreathed in flames and silently upstaging us all. After getting over the initial shock of seeing them and realising they're unfortunately not going to burn to death, the mass of onlookers cheer louder still.

As I listen to their calls of 'District 12!', 'Peeta!', and more frequently, 'Katniss!', which must be their names, I suddenly feel jealous of the attention they're getting. They have literally stolen the show and once again, as I seem to now do with alarming frequency, I find myself thinking that it's not supposed to be like this.

I watch as a reporter ducks underneath the barrier that separates the crowd from the tributes and gestures wildly and more than a little drunkenly at Katniss as he introduces her to those surrounding him as 'The Girl on Fire'. Cato has, for some reason that I don't really understand, greatly disliked the girl from the coal district from the first second he saw her, and now she stands metres away from him, smiling at the adoring crowd, I can feel the fury radiating from him so strongly that I'm surprised it's not visible. His grip on my arm tightens and he pushes his thumb hard against the pulse point at my wrist. If it wasn't for the way he abruptly realises what he's doing and lets go slightly, I'd have asked him if he was imagining having that same hand closed around Katniss Everdeen's throat.

The crowd falls silent as President Snow appears on the balcony, surrounded by his usual Peacekeeper bodyguards. As he begins to speak his familiar words, welcoming us to the Capitol and revisiting the Treaty of Treason, my mind switches off completely. Surely the total number of times I've heard a variation of this speech must be up to two million by now and I feel like I could recite it from memory. To distract myself I look up at the huge television screen that's mounted onto the front of the Training Centre, and I'm annoyed to see that the cameras are virtually fixed on District 12. I imagine my own hand wrapped tightly around Everdeen's throat.

* * *

Abruptly President Snow ends his speech and the roaring of the crowd begins again as our chariots set off on one final circuit of the City Circle. There are still cheers for some of the other tributes, including us, but the majority of the people are focussed solely on District 12. Why? What's so special about them? Apart from the obvious drama that's bound to be caused by their costumes, they look as pathetic as the rest of the tributes to me. I soon know I'm not alone in my thoughts as I just about hear Cato's voice from behind me over the noise of the crowd and the music, which started up once more the second the anthem had finished.

"Who does she think she is? That one needs to be taught her place in the world. Look at her, she thinks she owns the Games."

I twist around to look at him only for him to nod sharply forwards, reminding me to keep my mind on the performance the way that I usually remind him. I smile, and although I'm looking at the Capitol people peering through the open windows of their vast houses, my smile is all for Cato.

"Don't worry, my love," I say, my casually menacing Arena voice coming naturally despite how I surprise myself as well as him with the rare spoken expression of affection. "The District 12 style team can do what they like, the Girl-on-Fire will still be burnt to ashes long before they need to think about making her a gown for the Victor's Interview."

* * *

We come to an abrupt halt in the courtyard of the Training Centre only a few minutes later, and my first urge is to jump down from the chariot and flee as far as I can from the noise and chaos that surrounds me. However as I step forwards to do just that, my dress quickly reminds me that I won't be jumping anywhere until I can change my clothes.

I glance across the courtyard and the first thing I see is the red-haired girl from District 5 stepping down from her chariot, her movements clearly hampered by the weight of her copper-coloured dress. The second thing I see is the pair from District 12, and I watch as their flames are quickly extinguished, thinking that I can't wait to get the opportunity to extinguish their flames a whole lot more permanently. I scowl at them and the expression is still upon my face when I turn to see Ambrosius and the woman who must be Cato's stylist rapidly approaching the chariot, followed closely by both prep teams. Their path is suddenly blocked by a large number of Avoxes, all carrying trays full of food, and I use the extra time I have before they reach us in the best way I can think of.

"Get me down from here," I ask Cato quickly when I realise my whole body is shaking with a weakness I don't want the other tributes to see. "I really am going to lose it if they touch me again."

He jumps down lightly from the chariot and walks swiftly around it, lifting me down like I weigh no more than a feather before the stylists get anywhere near us. We stand side by side in the midst of the chaos as our tormentors finally succeed in fighting their way through the mass of stylists, tributes and chariots, and I force myself to resist the almost overwhelming urge to turn my back on them.

"I told you that you'd cope," says Ambrosius with false cheerfulness as he looks down at me.

"No thanks to you," I reply, feeling childish for responding in such a way but also feeling too emotionally drained to really care.

"Do we have to stay here?" asks Cato, direct and to the point as usual.

"We're not going anywhere after you both turned out so well. We're hardly likely to miss such a fantastic opportunity to raise our profiles, are we?" answers Cato's stylist, who judging by her response must be as newly promoted as Ambrosius. "I can see why this wouldn't interest you though. You can go upstairs if you don't want to stay."

Who is she to talk about us like we are less important than she is? We are the ones who are the focus of everyone's attention. It'll be us in the arena in a few days, not her. I bite back the angry retort I want to give her, clinging to the fact that if I say nothing then they will simply leave us alone and let us go upstairs. But then it hits me that I really don't like the way I'm reacting to these people.

I've never had to think in such a way, have never had to defer to anyone else like this, and I hate it. This is not who I am. Other people do what I say, not the other way around. I take a deep breath and pull together the slightly shredded remains of my self confidence before stepping forwards to tell the stylist exactly what I think of her ignorant opinions.

"You are right, this shallow and pitiable world of fabrics and dyes certainly doesn't interest me in the slightest," I start, delighted by the shocked expression on the other woman's face, only to be pushed aside by Cato, in a strange reversal of roles where for once he is the one in control when I'm losing my temper.

"It's been a long day, we'll just go," he says, giving his stylist his most charming smile, though I don't know why he thought he needed to bother. From the way she gazes up at him, it's perfectly obvious which tribute she'll be supporting this year. It's disgraceful. Behind all of that surgical alteration, she's probably old enough to be his mother and I think even that is being generous. "Your audience is waiting," he adds, gesturing to the group of reporters who are hovering a short distance away.

With one final dirty look in my direction and a beaming smile for my lover, she trots off without another word.

As we watch her go, I turn to look at Cato, one eyebrow raised. "Since when did you become the expert on manipulating the Capitol people?"

"I'm not. She just makes it so easy that I can't resist."

"Make sure you do resist or you'll be on your own in the arena," I reply, only half jokingly despite the fact that I deliberately misunderstood him.

He laughs in response. "You can always stay here and wait for the Peacekeepers to arrest you if you want to."

"I don't think so," I say sharply and we walk towards the Training Centre lifts as quickly as I can, which really isn't quickly enough.

"I'd rather take you upstairs anyway," he replies, his voice dripping with innuendo.

"You wait 'til I find a knife, Marcelli," I growl, glaring at him in a way I hope any watching camera crews will consider to be genuine aggression. "You won't be so arrogant then."

"You couldn't beat me."

"I could," I reply, and the look in his eyes jolts me back to our present reality instantly. We're evenly matched in the Arena back home and we used to fight for fun, but the real arena isn't a game. I need to change the subject. "What do you think then?" I ask, lowering my voice considerably as I look back at the other tributes.

"I didn't see anyone who could challenge us," he replies eventually, keeping his voice as low as mine. After all, we both know it's not beneath the mentors to spy on the other tributes in attempt to discover their strategies. If the rumours and stories that fly around our Training Centre are anything to go by then Vikus has made it something of an art form.

"I'll bet you didn't see anyone who looks as ridiculous as I do either. Nobody else had to be lifted in and out of their chariot."

I know I'm whinging but I'm tired and I've had enough. After the couple of days that I've had, I think I have an excuse.

"Ridiculous isn't the word I'd use to describe the way you look," he says, looking speculatively at me in the same way he was doing while we were waiting for the lift before the parade even started.

Before I can respond, he half pushes me into the nearest lift, following behind a couple of seconds later. The first thing I notice about the glass box is that Cato and I are not its only occupants. I stare at the tributes from District 5, struck once again by the same suspicions I had about the girl when I was watching the reaping replays. She does take the expected step away, but then she stops and stares back at me with strange amber eyes that appear to see right through me, once again seeming fearful but not to the point where she's unable to think about what she's doing and what's happening around her. Being face to face with her does nothing to allay my initial concerns.

However, whether she's as dangerous as I believe her to be or not, it can at least be said with absolute certainty that she has more courage than her district partner. The boy, who is probably around my age and therefore technically more a man than a boy in spite of his youthful appearance, takes several rapid steps backwards, putting as much distance between us and him as he can. He looks very much like he's trying to hide behind the girl, Lysandra, despite the fact he's a good head and shoulders taller than she is. Here's another one that will give me no trouble then. If I was the type of girl who likes betting then I'd say the boy from 5's cannon will sound on the first day in the arena.

The other occupant of the lift is the tiny girl from District 11, who looks more fragile and delicate than ever now she's standing only a couple of short metres away. Even she is braver than the boy, who still seems to be trying to achieve the impossible and make himself vanish into thin air. The girl from 11 doesn't move, but simply stares at Cato and I, her muscles tense as if she's poised to run for her life. Exactly where she thinks she would go, I have no idea.

Her eyes widen suddenly at the same time as I sense Cato take a further step forward to stand by my side, and I watch the boy from 5 step back once more.

I make sure I hide my feelings of course, but I'm shocked when I see the carving knife that Cato is holding out in front of him, pointing the razor-sharp blade at Lysandra. I suppose he must have taken it from one of the Avoxes when they passed by with their trays of food, but what he hopes to achieve by attacking another tribute before the Games have started I have no idea. What if he did listen to me when I said that District 5 was bothering me? What if he intends to waste no further time in alleviating my worries permanently? Surely he wouldn't be that stupid? We'll get plenty of time to dispose of District 5 in the arena and if he asks me nicely then I'll even let him kill the girl, so why does he have to do this now?

I can practically feel the fear radiating from the three other occupants of the lift and turn to look at Cato, trying desperately to think of a way to get us out of this situation without anyone dying but also without us appearing weak in front of the other tributes. Then his eyes meet mine for a split second before he returns his gaze to his unfortunate victims, and despite the blatant aggression that shows on his face, I can tell instantly that he isn't serious. He's just playing with them in the same way that I did with District 3, trying his hand at defeating a few more tributes without even having to use violence. My emotions change completely and I suddenly have to stop myself from laughing, but when he laughs, I can't help joining in, noticing with satisfaction that our wordless communication seems to unnerve the others even further.

"Are you scared, District 5?" he asks, speaking with such hostility in his voice that if I hadn't seen his face, even I would have struggled to work out that he wasn't being a hundred percent serious.

The boy steps even further back despite the fact that Cato isn't even looking in his direction, and I hear him connect with the glass wall of the lift as he desperately attempts to find an escape route that's never going to appear. The coward. I don't know how he can bear to humiliate himself in such a way. The twelve-year-olds back at the Training Centre have more courage than he does. Even Peony had more courage than he does.

It's the girl who Cato is concentrating on, and to her credit, she meets his eyes for a lot longer than many who have tried in the past have managed before finally lowering her gaze and staring at the floor as intently as the girl from District 11, who still hasn't moved. I wonder if Lysandra realises how much she gave away to me just then, if she realises that she would have been better off and drawn less attention to herself by trying to immediately run away like her district partner did.

My thoughts are interrupted the next second when Cato seems to decide he's made his point and so turns to face me once more, the anger vanished to be replaced by an almost mischievous expression.

"I'm sick to death of your whining," he says, making sure that the other tributes will be unable to see how he looks pointedly down at my dress.

I smile at him when I realise the real reason he took the knife, taking it from him at the same time as I narrow my eyes at Lysandra, looking at her as if I'm deciding which part of her to aim for. I allow my supposed intention to register and for her fear to become obvious before reaching down to lift the hem of my dress, drawing the knife up through the fabric and enjoying the ability to move unimpeded once more.

Once I've cut the material of the dress up to my thigh, I hand the knife back to Cato and push the button for Level 2. The lift doors glide silently together and as we begin to travel upwards, I inwardly groan. I know just what's waiting for me when I reach my destination and it isn't peace and quiet. I picture Vikus, desperately waiting for our return so that he can launch into yet another strategy discussion, and my heart sinks. I'm not in the slightest bit surprised that most of Panem thinks the average District 2 tribute is not completely sane. If they were forced to have the same discussion over and over again virtually every day of their lives then they wouldn't be either.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Once we begin our ascent up the side of the Training Centre, it takes no time at all for the lift bell to ring and then for the doors to slide open, revealing a stark wide corridor with a single brown wooden door at the end of it. It's exactly as Vikus described, right down to the gleaming gold sign which has 'Two' carved into it.

"Just in case we forget which district we're from." I say as mockingly as I dare to when Cato and I leave the lift without a backward glance and make our way towards our unavoidable fate of endless replays and ceaselessly repetitive strategy discussion. Despite still having to take two strides for Cato's one, I still feel better. At least I can keep up with him now I have victory over the dress, or should I say over Ambrosius, who designed the stupid thing in the first place.

Once the lift doors clatter shut, Cato slows his pace so he can turn to face me, laughing as he does. "Did you see their faces? They're so pathetic. They really thought I'd do it."

I laugh with him but my voice is slightly serious when I respond. "Until you looked at me, _I _really thought you'd do it. I thought for a second that you had actually listened to me about Lysandra."

"I always listen to you," he says, pretending to look hurt by my comment.

"No, you don't," I reply, sounding like a petulant child even to my own ears.

"Yes I do. I don't always do what you tell me but I do listen. So is Lysandra her name?"

"Were you even watching the replay of the reapings?"

"I'm not fixated with her like you seem to be."

"No, you only think about the Girl on Fire," I retort, knowing the mere mention of Katniss will annoy him and wanting to provoke a reaction, mostly because play fighting with him feels like home. For some reason though, his temper remains tightly controlled and he once more answers me calmly.

"I thought we were only going to talk about her when we're deciding how to kill her."

"I bet I can think of more ideas than you," I say teasingly, unable to avoid smiling at the thought of putting an end to the girl from the coal district. Anyone who annoys one of us generally annoys the other one as well.

"I don't doubt it for a second. I don't think much of him but I'm sure I'll pity Marvel when we break the Alliance."

"Who?" I ask, assuming that 'Marvel' must be a name, though how any parent could hate their child to that extent is beyond me.

"The number one on your kill list," he answers, shaking his head and smiling at me. We come to a halt in front of the door but neither of us reaches for the handle. "District 1. Didn't you watch the reaping review?" he adds, teasingly repeating my words back at me.

"His name is Marvel?" I say, unable to contain my laughter.

"Yes," he replies, laughing as well. "And her name's Glimmer."

"Poor girl," I say with little sincerity. Anyone who wants to fight me for Cato has very little chance of any kind of sympathy and every chance of a very slow and painful death. "One advantage of District 2 - no ridiculous names. Just think, my father could have called me Sparkle."

Cato smirks down at me and I'm relieved to see that some of the tension in him that was so obvious when we were on the tribute train seems to have disappeared. He looks more like himself with that familiar look on his face. It's even worth mentioning my father to see that half-smile.

"You don't look like a 'Sparkle'."

"I sparkle more than enough now," I say, gesturing to the excess of silver glitter in my hair, which has been showering everything within a ten metre radius that doesn't run away every time I move ever since the prep team put it there.

He reaches out and ruffles my hair, only to regret his action when he takes his hand away and finds it coated in the aforementioned glitter. When I laugh at him, he grabs my arm to hold me still as he attempts to wipe the glitter from his hand onto the skirt of my dress.

"Stop it! Let me go right now!" I shout, trying to remain serious but failing dismally.

After a brief scuffle we stand in front of the doorway that neither of us want to open, and I'm pleased to notice that Cato actually has more glitter on him than he did before. If the people at our Training Centre back home could see us now then our hard-earned reputation for being the most formidable fighters in the district would be in tatters. The common belief that I feel no emotions would be shattered into a million pieces. Or maybe it wouldn't and they'd just see the strange and irrational truth. Maybe they'd all decide that I only feel for him.

"Sparkle is definitely a no then. Changing my name would cause too much trouble so it looks like I'm stuck with the one my father gave me." I say jokingly.

"Don't you remember what I told you all those years ago? If your father wanted to be a traditionalist and give you a botanical name, then I'm sure I'm not the only person who thinks 'Nightlock' would've been more appropriate than 'Clove'."

I hit him sharply but I can't help smiling at the same time, remembering the first time he said those words. It was the day that we first met, the day that a very arrogant thirteen-year-old Cato attempted to take my father's knife from me for himself. The response he got from the seemingly defenceless little girl I was then shocked not only him but everyone who happened to be walking the corridors of the Training Centre as well. By the time we'd settled our differences before a vast audience and ended up sat on the floor next to each other, both too tired to fight any more, I knew we'd never be enemies again and I think he did too.

A few minutes later I got what was only my second introduction to Vikus when he dragged the pair of us down the corridor and left us on the cold stone floor, battered and bruised but no longer angry with the entire world, awaiting his judgement and punishment for causing untold damage to his beloved Training Centre. The memory of Cato's seemingly meaningless joke of renaming me Nightlock after the plant that contains one of the deadliest natural toxins known to Panem stays with me more than the subsequent whipping that we both received from the man who was to become our mentor, because for some then unknown reason, earning his respect suddenly mattered more to me than anything and that one sentence told me all I needed to know.

However as I look up at him, my smile slowly fades. The flashback and the events that followed the Opening Ceremony worry me enough to make me take a step away from him and put my hand on the door handle. It's still far, far too easy for us to act like nothing has changed between us, to act like the Games haven't forced that change, and that means I'm going to have to try harder to push him away.

Maybe he's thinking the same, because although he sighs deeply when I turn the handle, he makes no move to stop me.

The opulently decorated room that lies on the other side of the door is a shock after the dazzling whiteness of the corridor, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. If I stop to think for even a second then the events of the day return to haunt me so I'm living the nightmare all over again. I close my eyes and it's like I'm back in the Remake Centre, and I can still feel the prep team's hands on me. If I can't allow myself to surrender to the only person who could truly rid me of the memory, then all I want is to take off this dress and have a shower in what I'm sure will be a pointless attempt to wash the day away.

However it looks like it's not meant to be, because a few seconds later I hear the clatter of high heels followed by the now familiar shriek as Selene walks into the room.

"What have you done?" she screeches, her eyes wide with horror as she stares at my dress.

I return her frantic gaze, trying to appear both calm and innocent at the same time despite the fact it's impossible to deny the existence of the enormous split in the silver fabric that hadn't been there before and is far too neat to be accidental. A few seconds later I give up. It's pointless trying to reason with these Capitol people as they never listen.

"It's not like they are ever worn again," I snap, turning on my heel and striding down the corridor away from her. I can feel Cato's eyes on my retreating back but I don't stop. I have no idea where I'm going and I don't really care. Anywhere is better than being stuck in a confined space with Selene.

I almost make it out of sight before a familiar and most unwelcome voice calls me back.

"Clove! Where do you think you're going? Strategy discussion! Now!"

I stop and then slowly retrace my steps back towards Vikus, fighting desperately against the urge to just keep walking. The first thing anyone who comes to my district's Training Centre learns is not to ignore that voice, and old habits die hard despite the situation. I listen still but it doesn't mean that I like what I hear, for what I hear is a variation on all I seem to have heard from everyone but Cato since I left District 2.

'Clove, do this!', 'Clove, don't do that!', 'Come here, Clove!', 'Go away, Clove!'. I'm starting to despise the sound of my name, because it's almost invariably accompanied by an order or instruction that I would never even consider obeying at home. Here in the Capitol, however, I have no choice, and combined with everything else that's happened, it's slowly driving me insane. Every second that passes makes me long for the simplicity of the arena. No matter how horrific the prospect of the final battle may be, at least there I know where I stand.

Vikus retreats back into the neighbouring room with a slightly more original but unsurprising call of "Hurry up, Clove!"

Here we go again. Shouting and orders, shouting and orders.

Cato follows Vikus, but as he passes through the doorway he turns back to look at me and it's as if he knows what I'm thinking. Suddenly I like the sound of my name again, for that one word is all he says before he disappears from my sight. Whispered softly like it is when he's won a training bout and pinned me to the ground beneath him, there are no orders attached to it, no demands. It tells me all I need to know, which is also all I'm trying in vain to forget.

* * *

When I walk into what can only be described as a television room due to it containing only five huge armchairs arranged in a semi-circle around the aforementioned equally huge television, I immediately see that Vikus has started without me. He and Cato appear to be engaged in yet another discussion about the Career Alliance and, as usual, they can't seem to agree.

"What _is _all the fuss about?" Selene asks suddenly, neatly if unsubtly making herself the centre of attention by shouting over everyone else. She points at the television. "It's the same every year, can't even stand in a chariot without trying to start a fight."

I take a seat on the last remaining armchair with Cato on one side of me and Augustus on the other. Needless to say, I almost subconsciously lean towards Cato and every so often have to force myself to sit upright. Looking at the screen I can see that the footage from the Remake Centre before the beginning of the parade is being shown, and I'm happy to see our 'argument' over who stands where in the chariot being shown in full and presented as the first falling out of the Games.

"What do you expect?" says Cato to Selene. "She was in my way."

Our escort says nothing further, seemingly satisfied with the lie, and Augustus laughs, turning to look at me in a way that makes me instinctively reach for my knife that isn't there. When I turn away from him in disgust, I find myself looking at Vikus, and though I very quickly return my focus to the television, I notice that our act still doesn't seem to be convincing him.

* * *

I'm forced to sit through the whole Opening Ceremony all over again, even though I lived through the entire odious performance only hours before and can unfortunately still recall what happened in perfect detail. We don't seem to be achieving much, and I think that with each minute that passes I'm growing ever fonder of Cato's original strategy, which as far as I know seemed to consist of not really having one.

I stare into space, not taking in either the conversation going on around me or the blaring noise of the television commentary. Every time a tribute appears on the screen I try to imagine how best to kill them, a task which is easier with some than others. I find myself focussing on Marvel from District 1 a lot, and it's only when I see the face of the imaginary Marvel in my head, who is slumped dead on the floor at my feet, that I realise where my irrational hatred of him comes from. Apart from being lighter in build, he is the image of Cassius, my old enemy.

Time seems to pass ridiculously slowly as I sit, painfully uncomfortable in my Opening Ceremony dress, waiting for even the smallest opportunity to escape. I tap my foot against the leg of my chair, continuing long after my muscles begin to cramp purely because I can see how much it's annoying Augustus. I last as long as it takes for the camera to focus on the pair of tributes from District 10, the crippled boy and the sullen-looking girl, before I decide I can't take it anymore and run from the room.

I run as fast as I can down the corridor, barging past several of the hoard of Avoxes who are still clearing away the remains of our dinner and taking a carving knife off the table as I go, just because I can. I feel their startled gazes burning into my retreating back as I run out of District 2's quarters, not stopping until I reach the lift. Now I feel nothing but gratitude towards Cassia, one of my other mentors, for telling me how to get onto the roof of the Training Centre because I really need some fresh air.

* * *

I don't know how long I've spent here, standing by the walled edge of the building, staring out at the impossibly bright and enormous Capitol, relieved to feel the wind in my hair again even if it is a wind polluted with car fumes and who knows what else. I'm so high up that the people look like ants as they scurry around on the streets below. They seem to be all having a huge party. I suppose they are. A party to celebrate the entertainment they're going to derive from the impending doom of my fellow tributes. My fellow tributes. Am I including Cato in that statement? Even as I think of the question, I know I'm not.

I can't see the stars because of the bright lights of the city. I can barely see the sky through the smoke and cloud, so I have no way of knowing what time it is. I don't want to move even though I'm starting to get cold, because I really don't want to go back downstairs. If I return then I'll have to face Augustus, Vikus and Selene. I'll have to begin the act of pretending that being here with Cato doesn't bother me all over again, and I don't think I've ever been so tired. I can't face it again, not yet. I'll stay up here all night if they let me.

I try to think of the arena, of devising my own strategy for the Cornucopia, one that I actually believe will work instead of Augustus's ridiculous schemes, which without fail all seem to involve District 1. I'm starting to think he'd rather see her come back than either of us, a thought which probably isn't that far from the truth. After all, many of the previous victors are old friends, and I know which one of us my most hated mentor would rather get to know better.

The idea of staying up here all night becomes less appealing as the temperature continues to drop. It was warmer in District 2 when I left and I don't think my body has become accustomed to the decrease in temperature yet. I'm about to give up and go back inside, trying to decide the best way to sneak past the television room so I can retreat to the safety of my own bed, far away from mentors, escorts and, most definitely of all, stylists, when I hear the approach of familiar footsteps. Footsteps that belong to someone who is trying so hard to be silent without quite succeeding.

It's always been the same. I've always been able to creep up on him but he could never do the same to me. Every time he attempted to in all the years we've known each other, he has never once managed, and I used to joke that if I ever wanted to kill him then it would be all too easy. Now the joke doesn't seem half as funny as it did.

I let him get almost within touching distance before I quickly spin around, laughing suddenly at the look of disappointment that shows briefly but clearly on his face.

"How did you know where I was?"

"I didn't. I searched the whole of our floor first. Selene thinks I'm insane, and coming from her…"

"You _are _insane," I say, and the easy affection I hear in my voice makes me tense and step away from him. Last night was a mistake, a momentary lapse back into my previous life. A mistake that can never happen again.

"Stop running away from me, Clove. You're the one person who has never left me. Don't tell me you're going to start now."

"I'm not running from you. I'm running from today. From this whole situation. From Augustus, Selene and Vikus, and especially from the Remake Centre and my prep team."

He frowns slightly. "Was it as bad as you thought? Did you do what I told you?" I can tell by his seriousness that he knows what my answer will be already.

"Yes and yes. It didn't work though. I could have killed them, Cato. Before they even touched me I wanted to kill them, and it only got worse after that."

"You didn't have my childhood, Clove," he replies, surprising me by remaining serious instead of saying something teasing instead. "You've never really known what it is, what it feels like, to be totally at the mercy of another, to not be able to choose between life and death because they have taken even that from you."

The tone of his voice changes dramatically with his last sentence, and I know instantly what he's thinking about. He must have been about nine years old when Vikus had caught him trying to steal from him on somebody else's orders, and I know my lover remembers that day like it was yesterday despite it being many years ago. Vikus had made Cato truly believe that he was going to die in the most painful way imaginable before finally offering him a reprieve on the condition that he started to work for him and would begin training to become a tribute. I'm the only person who knows of Cato's desire for vengeance, who knows that every person who he has ever killed wore our mentor's face when they died, but I also know exactly how painful a memory it is for him to recall, so I try to change the subject as quickly as I can.

"You know that what you said isn't true," I say, all false innocence removed from my face as I look up at him with a sly smile.

He returns my look briefly before turning to gaze over the wall at the illuminated buildings of the Capitol. He takes a deep breath and then he jumps forward towards me. I feint to the left and dodge to the right, but he catches me anyway, yanking me back and pinning me against the wall.

"Guess you're just not quick enough, Little Girl," he taunts, pushing into me until I struggle to remember we're on top of the Training Centre roof in the Capitol.

"You'd be as dead as me," I reply with a smirk, and when he pulls away almost enough to free my hand from where it's trapped between us, he sees the knife in my hand and shakes his head.

"Where'd you get that?"

"The dinner table," I answer, slowly raising my hand up to rest the edge of the blade at his throat.

"If you're so certain that last night was a mistake then don't look at me like that," he says as he ignores the knife and leans into me anyway, his eyes locked with mine. But then he pulls away before continuing, suddenly serious once more. "I mean it, Clove. This situation isn't going to change because you push me away and try to make me do the same to you, so why bother? It won't make it any easier when the time comes."

So that's why he refuses to lose his temper with me. It makes sense now.

I walk over to him again and don't protest when he moves to stand behind me, turning me around and wrapping me tightly in his arms as we both stare out over the wall at the Capitol. "This shouldn't be happening and I don't know how to deal with it. I can't deal with it. I'll try. I _am _trying, but it's just so difficult."

"Well nothing about you has ever been easy," he teases, but for once I don't respond.

We stand there in a relaxed silence until I hear the lift bell ring.

I spin around at the same time as Cato steps back and does the same, both of us turning to face the glass dome that houses the lifts. Whatever there is between us, everyone else is still the enemy, especially in a place like this.

The girl who strides confidently onto the roof is of average height, which is to say about a head taller than me, and she has pale brown skin that seems to somehow reflect the moonlight. Her dark eyes scan the roof and I see them widen slightly when she sees us. Her stride falters but she heads in our direction rather than attempting to run away, and it's when she responds in that way that I recall who she is.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asks, raising her eyebrows as she looks first at me and then at Cato.

So what do I say to that? Denial will only confirm the truth and I can't have that. Once again I find myself trying to change the subject. "We have to talk somewhere. How else are we going to plan our strategy?"

"Can I join you?"

Cato moves forwards to stand beside me, glaring at the girl without replying. It seems that if we're going to make this alliance then I'm the one who's going to have to do the talking.

"What's your name?" I say, asking even though I know perfectly well who she is.

"Varia," she replies, far too confidently for my liking.

"I'm Clove and this is Cato." She nods to each of us in return. "Where's the other half of District 4?" I ask, making sure she knows I knew who she was before she introduced herself.

She looks appraisingly at me and I know what she's thinking. I'm too small to be a District 2 tribute, not strong enough to win the Games. But then her eyes meet mine and it isn't long before she looks at the floor. It's always when they look in my eyes that they know the truth. Cato says I have death in my eyes for everyone but him. He likes it that way. So do I. But perhaps we're both crazy. I like that, too.

"I wouldn't bother with him," she says eventually, looking over my head at Cato.

"We'll be the judge of that," he snarls, speaking to her for the first time. I instinctively raise my arm and put it across his chest to stop him from stepping towards the girl, recognising that tone of voice as a warning. He'll get nothing but trouble if he attacks a tribute before the Games, and after all, she may be useful later. If all I have to work with other than her is District 1 and the boy from her district then I'll need all the help I can get.

"He's downstairs sulking because Finnick wouldn't take him to meet the lovely ladies of the Capitol. Do I have to say any more?"

Her comment confirms my first impressions of the boy from District 4 and once again tempts me to put an end to the Career Alliance before we get anywhere near the arena.

"You know how it works," I say. "We work together to dispose of most of the rest and then you die like one of them."

"If you don't die first, District 2," she replies.

I expected her reaction but still feel pleased because I achieved what I wanted to achieve by making the comment. I noticed her sharp intake of breath and almost imperceptible step back and I know Cato did too. She's confident but not that confident, and clearly feels weaker than she lets on, which can only be good for us.

"Keep deluding yourself that that will happen if it makes you feel better," I retort as I allow Cato to guide me back to the lifts, feeling happy that the first step to forming the alliance has been taken.

We get as far as the entrance to the glass dome before the lift bell rings once again. What is this? A tribute convention? I thought I was the only one who knew how to get onto the roof, but it seems I was mistaken.

I stand facing the doors with Cato at my side, and I hear Varia approach but then decide to remain a short distance away. A few seconds later, a boy with the same colour skin as the girl from 4 emerges from the dome. He looks straight past me to focus on Varia, and when he speaks with an almost identical accent, I realise that this must be her district partner. He looks bigger than he did in the reaping replays but still so much weaker than Cato.

"I wondered where you'd disappeared to," he says.

"Anything to avoid you, Arturo," she replies scathingly.

I walk forwards, not liking the way that this non-descript looking boy thinks he can ignore me.

"If you're waiting for Finnick to come back then you'll have to wait all night if the rumours are true. I'm not surprised you've given up."

He turns to look at me, his eyes nervously flashing to Cato a couple of times before he replies. "Who said I was waiting for Finnick?"

"Varia," I say with a smirk, before continuing in a falsely casual voice. "Is she lying to me then? I do so hate it when people lie to me and the consequences for the liar are never pretty."

"He said he'd take me out to see the Capitol…" the boy starts, before abruptly realising he's saying far too much and trailing off weakly. "Who are you?" he asks eventually.

Not the brightest flower in the garden then, this one. I turn in Cato's direction and although his expression barely changes, I recognise the look in his eyes. He senses the boy's weakness and I think he's just found someone to displace District 11 from number two position on his kill list. There's nothing he despises more than weakness.

He walks past me and turns menacingly upon Arturo, backing him into the wall as the boy from the fishing district reaches frantically to his belt for a weapon that isn't there. Does this boy call himself a Career Tribute? Does he seriously think he could win the Games? Not only is he too stupid to pay attention to the opposition but he's a coward as well. I've still got the carving knife, but I wouldn't bother drawing it for the likes of him.

I watch as his eyes widen when he sees Cato's district token and he realises exactly who he's facing, and I am once again amazed by his idiocy. I would have thought it would be perfectly obvious who we are. Do we look like we come from District 12?

I look at Varia and see she's staring at our district partners with vague fascination. If the amused expression on her face is anything to go by then I get the impression there's no love lost between her and Arturo and she's hoping that Cato will put an end to him so she doesn't have to. She turns and her eyes meet mine for a second as she shrugs her shoulders. Well, she might be content not to get involved but she's mistaken if she thinks I'm going to do the same.

"Is this the end of the Career Alliance then?" I say, raising my voice so that all three tributes can hear me.

Cato gives Arturo a reprieve as he steps away and returns to my side. "If these are the other Careers then I don't think it's really worth the bother," he says.

"Don't group me in with him," interrupts Varia quickly. I can see why she thinks that way. If she isn't working with us on Day One in the arena then there's a very good chance we'll target her with the rest when the bloodbath begins.

"I'll see what happens at training tomorrow," I reply at the same time as I notice that Arturo seems to have regained his composure. He walks over to us and this time looks at me, carefully avoiding making eye contact with Cato.

"Who are you to talk to us like you are so superior? I could kill you in my sleep, Little Girl."

I hear Cato growl and I step in front of him to stop him from launching himself at Arturo.

"I truly look forward to you trying, District 4," I snarl, incensed that he called me by a name I'll only take from Cato. "I know it isn't always good to have too many easy victories and my mentor says it makes me complacent, but it doesn't hurt every once in a while and I'll enjoy killing you."

I find it very hard to believe, but maybe people fear him in District 4 in the same way as they fear me or Cato in District 2, as he's obviously taken aback by my confidence.

"I don't know about in your sleep though," adds Cato, standing so close behind me that it's an effort to stop myself from leaning back against him like I've done so many times when we've been in the same situation back home. For some reason people always found our closeness intimidating and we've become so accustomed to playing on their fear that we do it without thinking. "I wouldn't sleep too much or too heavily in the arena if I were you."

It takes a few seconds for the meaning of that to sink in and Arturo steps back when he finally understands. At least he has the sense to see when he's lost and he turns and walks back in the direction of the lifts.

"Are you coming back downstairs?" he calls to his district partner.

"We'll talk again in training," I say, effectively dismissing the girl, and with one final glance over the wall at the Capitol, she swiftly follows Arturo.

I relax back against Cato when they've gone and he sinks to the floor to sit leaning against the wall, pulling me down next to him.

"I hope District 1 are an improvement on them or I'm going to tell Vikus exactly what I think of his plan."

"Didn't you do that already? About ten times over so far from what I can remember."

He laughs. "We'll know tomorrow."

"Yes, I'm sure District 1 will be tripping over herself to talk to you," I say dryly. "But I suppose District 11 is still alive…"

"Don't start that again."

I smile and lift my hand to show him the bruises already forming on my wrist that he gave me the last time I made the suggestion. "I don't think symmetry is always a good thing, so I won't."

He knows I'm not angry with him, I know he does. I think we know each other well enough by now for him to understand that I'd feel more betrayed if he didn't react, that the pain caused by him not responding would be far greater than that of a few bruises, for his not responding would tell me that he didn't care.

He doesn't speak but covers the bruises by wrapping his hand easily around my wrist in a much gentler grip, and we sit there in silence, listening to the noise drifting up from the Capitol below.

* * *

The next thing I know, I wake to find the morning sun shining upon my face. It takes a couple of minutes for me to remember not only being on the roof of the Training Centre but also that I have no memory of leaving it, yet here I am, alone in a huge Capitol bed that I vaguely reminds me of the one on the train that I remember waking up in yesterday morning too.

The door opens and Cato walks in. "You're finally awake then?" he says, passing me a mug of hot chocolate.

I take it from him, pulling one of the many sheets around me as I slide off the edge of the bed, which is so high that my feet don't reach the floor when I sit on it. I feel silky material rather than carpet when I stand, and I look down to see my Opening Ceremony dress lying crumpled on the floor. I look questioningly at Cato.

"I don't think Ambrosius would approve of you treating his masterpiece like that."

"if you'd been awake then it'd probably be in a worse state than that," he replies, making me shiver even though I'm not cold. "You fell asleep on the roof so I carried you back here. I was going to hang it up but I thought you'd approve of leaving it there even if your stylist wouldn't," he adds with a smirk when he senses my confusion.

"The best thing for it, if you ask me," I reply, silently amazed that he managed to carry me all the way down here without me waking.

It tells me I still trust him completely despite knowing that we'll be in the arena in four days, and part of me wishes I didn't. It would be a whole lot easier to believe myself capable of killing him if I thought he was capable of killing me.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Hurry up, hurry up! You're going to be late for training if you don't go now," shouts Selene, flapping at us like we're small children as we enter the lift.

The lengths these Capitol people will go to so they can convince themselves they believe all of the tributes are as defenceless as each other seem to have no limits. And what gives this vain and insipid person the right to treat me like that anyway? In District 2, I'm considered to be a woman not a child.

However, despite that, I still roll my eyes at her in an incredibly child-like manner as she continues to flap even when we're inside the lift and the doors have started to slide together.

"Because we both know we're going to learn so much that we don't already know," whispers Cato sarcastically to me in a low voice that our escort can't hear.

The doors are almost closed when suddenly they glide back open again and I find myself staring into the cold, dark eyes of my mentor. I stand my ground and refuse to look away. Weakness is death with Vikus. I've known him for too long not to know that.

"I don't care what you do as long as you don't kill anyone," he says to me, deadly serious as usual. "And make sure he doesn't either," he adds with a knowing look and a nod in Cato's direction, "I'll hold you accountable as well as him if he does."

I don't like to remind Vikus that it wouldn't be him we'd be answering to if either of us killed another tribute in training, so I say nothing. I knew he hadn't fallen for our pretence of indifference to each other and that last statement is just his way of subtly confirming my suspicions.

The lift doors manage to glide all the way closed this time and we ride down to the underground gymnasium in silence, getting ready to pretend once again that we are merely district partners and nothing more. Cato reaches across and brushes the back of his hand over my throat, but when I turn to glare at him with pretend contempt, he's staring straight ahead with a flat expression of stone. I force myself to do the same before it's too late.

When we arrive in the gymnasium, the first thing I notice is that the people back home weren't lying. It does look very similar to the gym in our Training Centre. It doesn't feel the same though. I immediately see that nearly all of the other tributes are here already, and I can sense their fear before I've even left the lift.

"You always seem to be in my way, District 5."

I jump at the sound of Cato's voice, the aggression shocking me slightly as it seems to have come from nowhere. I turn to see him staring down at Lysandra, who is stubbornly holding her ground despite her extreme disadvantage.

"You could have just said 'excuse me'," she retorts sharply, shocking me greatly.

She might not be any real threat to us, but not many people dare to stand up to Cato at all, and she actually had the courage to answer him back. I was right. This one has spirit and she obviously hasn't given up yet. She's definitely up to something.

"Do you want to be on my kill list when we get in the arena?"

I laugh to myself. Come on, Cato, you can do better than that. She's intelligent enough to know that you want her dead already, whether she stands and fights or runs away.

The other tributes have all formed a semi-circle around my lover and his victim, who still seems reluctant to play her role as she should. Some look fearful, some simply look relieved that they're not Lysandra. Only a small minority are different. The pairs from 1 and 4, obviously, the man from 11, and probably most curiously, his little district partner. She peers around him to watch what's going on, apparently safe in the shadow of his protection. I silently wonder when he's going to wake up and realise this is the Hunger Games. But then if he knew the truth then I suppose he could say the same about me so I shouldn't be a hypocrite.

"Aren't all of the other tributes on your kill list, Cato? This is the Hunger Games, after all."

Lysandra's brave, I'll give her that, but her courage visibly deserts her at about the same time that Cato loses his temper and strides towards her. She backs up rapidly and he follows her, and when I see the Arena reflected in his eyes, I know this has to end now.

I cross over to the nearest of the tables that fill the room, choosing a knife from one of the holders and crossing the short distance to where Cato has Lysandra backed against another table. I quickly throw my knife, smiling briefly when it sinks into the wooden panelling of the wall, halfway between the pair of them at Lysandra's eye level. She turns to stare at me and so does Cato, her expression one of shock and his one of satisfaction at seeing the rest of the tributes' horrified response to my impromptu display.

"She's not worth it. Save it for the arena," I tell him, sighing with relief when he nods once and pulls the knife from the wall, handing it calmly to me, his temper vanishing as abruptly as it appeared.

"What is going on? Come back over here now."

I turn in the direction of the shout and see that the Capitol people who supervise the training sessions have arrived. Everyone walks back over to the lifts and stands in a semi-circle as we have our district numbers pinned to our backs, all looking at each other but nobody daring to meet my eyes. I smile to myself at that. Good. Intimidated tributes do stupid things that will only make what I have to do in the arena easier for me.

The lift bell breaks the silence and the pair from District 12 appear, late as usual and dressed in matching tunics. I turn to face Cato and see him scowl at Katniss before returning his focus to me. I have no idea what the mentors from 12 think they're doing. Holding hands at the Opening Ceremony, wearing matching clothes, how can that possibly help? I know better than anyone that there's no way two tributes can leave the arena alive.

The head trainer, who looks far too normal to be from the Capitol, immediately launches into her speech about what we can and can't do over the next three days. Just the usual and predictable rules, including the highly disappointing one of not fighting any of the other tributes. What I wouldn't give to take some of my anger out on Marvel.

Soon after, she indicates that we can start, and I watch Cato head immediately to the sword-fighting station, barely giving the three assistants time to reach their own swords before attacking them viciously. I smirk when I catch the eye of a small boy who'd been watching me, and then head immediately to the knife targets.

It's when I reach for the nearest weapon that I realise I'm not the only tribute who has chosen this station first, and I turn to find myself looking into the vivid emerald eyes of Glimmer from District 1. I have no idea what to expect from this girl. I dislike her on principle because she blatantly imagines herself allying with Cato, but there's something strange about her that I can't quite identify. Something that sets her apart from the usual District 1 tribute I've come to recognise after years of watching replays of the Games from previous years.

"Glimmer," I say, making sure I speak before she can have the first word.

"Clove," she replies immediately and without hesitation.

So, she knows my name already. She obviously does her research and has a higher intelligence level than I gave her credit for. She's definitely not as stupid as District 4 anyway, although I have to say that would be incredibly difficult so it's no great compliment.

I look at her for a second before speaking again, my eyes not wavering from hers as I mock her to test her reaction.

"Now tell me, which Capitol cosmetic surgeon's showroom did you escape from?"

She smirks at me and shrugs her shoulders. "I couldn't possibly divulge that information unless you tell me how you convinced District 2 to bother to train you," she replies in an equally mocking tone, pointedly and exaggeratedly looking down at me from her greater height as an accompaniment to her derogatory comment about my stature.

I pull two knives from the holder on the table and send them flying towards the furthest target, smirking back at her when the first one hits the very centre and a split second later, the other embeds itself into the end of its handle.

"Fair enough," she says, a grin on her outrageously beautiful face.

I can't help smiling back slightly. Very few people manage to surprise me but this girl certainly has. The unintelligent and supremely self-enamoured person who I was expecting is nowhere to be found.

I suspect she knows as well as I do how tenuous our alliance will be, but I can see myself at the very least not constantly wishing I could kill her throughout every minute I spend in her company, which is a whole lot more than can be said of my other 'new allies'.

When I look at her again, she's staring intently across the room. Seeing the focus of her attention makes my frown return instantly, however once again she surprises me.

"I don't think I'm his type, am I?" she asks after a couple of minutes, looking down at herself, then to me and back again as if she's making a comparison in her mind. She's perceptive, this one. Almost too perceptive.

"I think not," I reply eventually, waiting for her to tell the whole world what she's worked out. I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn't.

"Won't stop me trying," she says, still smiling.

"I'd be disappointed in you if it did," I add with a smile of my own.

Due to the somewhat precarious nature of my upbringing, there are few things in life that I'm certain of and secure in, but Cato's love is one of them. However perfect the girl from District 1 may be, I know he'd never want anyone else but me, not even her.

Glimmer nods once to me and decides that knife throwing isn't for her, or more likely she had no intention of staying and just wanted to get the measure of me. I watch her move over to a table covered with swords, where she selects a long, thin, very lethal looking blade and swings it in lazy circles around herself with total ease. As she moves, I look around to see that a lot of the other tributes are staring at her. It's mostly fear I see in their eyes, but in some of the older male tributes that fear is mixed with unconcealed desire.

I take a deep breath before removing at least ten knives from the holder, lining them up on the table in front of me. I don't care how beautiful she is, she might win that particular battle but there's no way she's going to be the most intimidating tribute in this room. That title has to belong to me.

I focus on the smallest target for a few seconds, which is no bigger than the side plates we get at dinner and mounted on the gymnasium wall next to the one I aimed for before, then I lift the first knife and let it fly across the room. A very short time later, the target is covered with the knives and I smile when I see that I didn't miss a single one.

It feels like it used to when I was little and this was all new to me, mostly because of where I am. The sense of satisfaction I feel when I look around the room to see virtually all of the tributes have stopped what they're doing to stare makes me forget for a brief second that the Games will be the end of me, one way or another. That is until I see that Cato has stopped fighting to stare as well, his face a mixture of pride and pain that will stay in my mind forever.

Suddenly no longer feeling the same enthusiasm for training, I retrieve the knives and throw them again, becoming increasingly frustrated with the easiness of the targets. I was doing this very same exercise when I was thirteen years old. I could do it in my sleep and I'm bored.

I'm just about to move on to something else when I see a small ball cross the front of the targets before plummeting towards the floor. It never gets there though, because I throw my last remaining knife and spear it to the wall.

When I turn to find the source of my moving target, I see the crippled boy from District 10, who looks from me to the knife that protrudes from the wooden panelled wall and back again a couple of times before hobbling away. I sense someone approach behind me and I smirk as I turn to face him, knowing his identity before I see him just like I always do.

"This is boring. Are you sure we can't fight each other?" I whisper, lowering my voice so that the trainers and the Gamemakers who appeared in the stands a few minutes ago can't hear.

"You've only just lost the last black eye," he replies teasingly. "Do you really want another?"

"You got lucky and you know it. It'll never happen again," I retort before continuing. "Where are you going now?"

"Over there," he says, nodding in the direction of the spear throwing station, where Marvel is currently throwing the spears through the necks of the straw dummies they provide us with for practice.

"Just promise me you won't kill him."

"I won't deny you the pleasure, don't worry," he answers as he moves quickly away so we don't draw too much attention to ourselves. The Gamemakers are always watching so the show must go on.

I move on first to swords, choosing the same weapon that Glimmer had used and wielding it with as much skill if slightly less grace, before progressing to my favoured discipline of knife fighting. Stopping my attack only when the assistant raises his hands and requests some time to rest, I feel surprised that he needs to because I'm not even trying. Before I have chance to comment on this, however, Atala informs us that it's lunchtime before directing us through a small doorway that leads off the gym.

I follow the tiny white-haired girl from District 3 through the door into the dining room, deliberately keeping my expression hard and emotionless when she turns to look behind her. She almost trips over herself in her rush to put as much distance between us as she can and I know that she remembers our meeting at the Remake Centre as clearly as she remembers my display from this morning.

The room I find myself in is very small by Capitol-standards, packed with about ten tables with bigger ones laden with food positioned along three of the walls. Most of the tributes look dazed and lost, and they eventually move to the tables, sitting as far away from each other as possible. I don't feel like talking so I wish I had that luxury, but unfortunately there's no chance of that. I have to perform yet another act in this ongoing performance and sit with my fellow Careers, pretending we're temporary allies when I secretly think they'll be the easiest ones to kill in the arena. They wanted this. It was their choice as it was mine, and that means they deserve all they get.

I look at the huge serving spoon that rests next to a dish of stew on the table nearest to me, and wonder for a second if I could kill Marvel with it if he annoys me. I'm sure I could, so it's very difficult to walk away without it, especially as the boy's very existence annoys me intensely.

I'm just about to choose a table when I see Glimmer remove a bowl of fruit from one table and put it onto another before gracefully sitting down and looking to see where her allies are. I watch as Lysandra from District 5 takes a seat at the table that Glimmer removed the bowl from, but not before she has taken a couple of pieces of fruit from a different bowl with a swipe of her hand that was so quick I barely caught it. I cross the room and sit beside Glimmer, taking an apple from the bowl when she pushes it towards me. Seconds later, Cato takes the chair on my other side and I pass my apple to him before taking another for myself.

A scowl mars Glimmer's beautiful face for a split second and I know she wanted to offer him the bowl herself as an excuse to get his attention. I smile sarcastically at her, but she doesn't speak and neither do I. We may be having this silent battle between us, but, with the obvious exception of Cato, she is still my best ally and I am hers, which is something we both know well.

Surprised that nobody else has joined us, I look around the room to see Marvel, Varia and Arturo emulating Glimmer and removing bowls of fruit from the other tables, more often than not when there is another tribute sitting there. Honestly, how old are they? Such behaviour should be beneath them. I can understand them wanting to intimidate the others, who I have to say deal with the removal of their food with exactly the level of courage and bravery I've come to expect, but surely they've learnt that that is what the weapons are for? Cato and I grew out of doing things like that when we were barely eligible for the reaping.

Cato coughs but I can tell he only does it to disguise his laughter. Glimmer rolls her eyes when Marvel proudly puts another fruit bowl in front of her.

"I really don't think we need more than one," she says to his retreating back, her voice dripping with contempt.

I continue to watch him as he reaches for a bowl of oranges that rests upon the table beside the tiny girl from District 11. She makes no move to stop him but she also doesn't shrink away in fear like most of the others do. Marvel almost gets the bowl but Thresh pushes it out of his reach, and this time it's me who laughs rather than Cato.

"What?" he asks, but I say nothing, continuing to watch as Marvel looks at the floor and rapidly walks away from the man from District 11 and his child of a district partner, glancing furtively across the room at our table as he does in the hope that we haven't noticed. I meet his eyes and give him my best sickly sweet smile, telling him silently that I've seen his weakness and won't forget it.

* * *

When we're all seated around the table, we keep up the pretence of friendship for the benefit of the other tributes. Most of the talking is done by Marvel and Arturo, who feel the need to describe their wonderful lives back home in their respective districts in as much detail as they possibly can. Do they really think we're interested? Do they really think I care how rich their fathers are or how many times they've met the mayor? They seem to be competing against each other to see who can be the most immature. I look around the table and see that Glimmer looks bored and Cato looks positively murderous.

"If you value your life at all, District 1, then you'll eat your food in silence until I say otherwise. I'm rapidly becoming tired of the sound of your voice," he says, interrupting Marvel mid-sentence.

I laugh and so does Glimmer, more to make the other tributes believe in the strength of our alliance than for any other reason, although the look on Marvel's face is a picture, a mixture of indignant shock at being interrupted and fear at the realisation that he isn't the strongest and best trained tribute in the Games and that he has earned the wrath of the man who is. The fear obviously wins because he doesn't say another word.

We sit in silence for a few minutes and the only sound in the small dining room comes from the table across the room, where the pair from District 12 sit together, talking in hushed voices. Their conversation looks forced and before my musings are interrupted by Varia, I consider once more the question of what the team from the coal district is up to this year. I can't even start to work it out.

"Did you know each other before the reaping then? You seemed to when we talked last night."

I stare at the girl from the fishing district for a second, knowing by her lack of subtlety that she's attempting another kind of fishing - fishing for information.

"We trained together sometimes," I answer eventually, not lying, just not telling her the whole truth or even anywhere near a quarter of it. Cato laughs and I glare at him. We need to move on to a new topic of conversation and quickly.

"How many people have you killed?" continues Varia, asking the table as a whole rather than only me. Having thought her unsubtle before, I now reach the conclusion that she wouldn't know subtlety if it slapped her around the face.

I look around at the others and see that Marvel is looking down at his plate of food and saying nothing. It could be that he doesn't want to risk aggravating Cato by speaking, but I suspect the real reason for his silence is that his answer to Varia's question is that he's never killed anyone and that he's ashamed. Stupid boy. As if killing someone is something to be proud of. As if it's something to show off about and he's disappointed that he can't. Glimmer also says nothing but she looks straight at Varia defiantly, her silence clearly a refusal to lower herself to the other girl's level.

"Well?" says the girl from 4 sharply when nobody answers her. "Are you all so pathetic that you've never fought anyone but your trainers in the gymnasium?"

"We'll see who's pathetic in five days time, won't we?" I snarl back. I've never allowed anybody to talk to me like that and I'm not about to start now. "I don't have to brag about how many people I've killed, I'm quite happy to let my actions in the arena do the talking."

"I killed a man," she says aggressively. "He hurt my brother so I hurt him."

I stare at her, and it's like I'm looking at her properly for the first time. I expect to see something in her expression that reminds me of myself, for when she talks of killing to avenge whatever happened to her brother, I can understand how that feels. The only time I've ever derived any kind of pleasure from taking the life of another person was when I killed a man in the Arena back home in an act of revenge to punish him for what he did to someone I cared for. The only person apart from Cato who I've ever truly cared for. But when I look into her eyes, I get the impression that her satisfaction came from the act of killing itself, not from the reasons behind her actions. For different reasons, she disgusts me as much as Marvel does.

I turn away from my 'allies', suddenly unable to bear the sight of them, and focus my attention on the other tributes. Katniss and Peeta are still talking and all the rest still sit alone and silent, some looking more comfortable with their solitude than others. Lucas, the boy from District 10, and Lysandra look the most relaxed, on the outside at least, and the girl from District 8 whose name I don't know looks the most terrified. She almost jumps from her seat every time someone sitting at my table makes even the slightest movement. When the little girl from 11 coughs, I turn my head in her direction, not missing the concerned expression that shows briefly on Thresh's face.

"He didn't say one word to me," begins Arturo, whose attention was obviously also drawn to District 11 by the girl's coughing. "I asked him to join us and he didn't even look at me. Maybe he didn't understand the question," he adds, much to Varia and Marvel's amusement.

"I'm sure he understood you perfectly," snaps Glimmer abruptly. "But you're wasting your breath. He will never join us."

I can't deny that I share her opinion, but I'd love to know how she can be so certain. What does she know of the man from District 11? I've been watching her closely all morning, assessing her strengths and weaknesses, and I'm sure I haven't seen them go within a hundred metres of each other, never mind have a conversation.

"Why not? District 11 isn't smart enough to realise we'd only be using him," retorts Marvel, Cato's earlier words apparently slipping his mind.

I'm very surprised to see the ice-cold beauty from District 1 finally let her self control go slightly as she almost hisses at her district partner, giving him a death-stare that almost rivals mine. She seems unable to find words, either that or she knows something she doesn't want to share, and as I can't resist an opportunity to insult Marvel, I decide to help her out.

"Your parents really had no idea what they were thinking when they named you, did they? Unless they were being ironic…"

He opens his mouth to reply but then Atala reappears and announces that lunchtime is over before instructing us to return to the gymnasium. I return to the knives and throw them once more at the target, barely even having to think. When I go to retrieve them, I stop halfway. There has got to be something more useful that I can do with this time than repeat exercises I could do in my sleep. I achieved what I wanted with the weapons this morning. The other tributes are intimidated so the weapons stations have served their purpose. It's not like I need the practice.

So I pass my afternoon in a way that probably surprises the Gamemakers completely. A tribute from District 2 spending her training time at the survival stations. I imagine such a sight is virtually unheard of, and I can't say it's the most fun in the world, but by the end of the afternoon I have revised all that I learnt at the Training Centre at home about edible and poisonous plants and shelter building, just in case I should need to use such skills in the arena.

Only a very arrogant or foolish person would go into the arena unprepared if they had the opportunity to learn, and I'm determined not to make this easy for the Gamemakers. If one of us has to die then it won't be of starvation or some other natural cause. That would be an insult that I couldn't bear and I know Cato would feel the same. The thought briefly crosses my mind that if he has to die then he'll want me to be the one who kills him because anything less would be an insult as well. But then I push it away quickly. I can't think like that. I can't.

* * *

When Atala announces that training is over for the day, I head over to the lifts, instinctively drifting towards Cato even though I know I really shouldn't.

"Is this a new tactic you haven't told me about?" he whispers when I reach his side.

"What?" I whisper back.

"Standing at the survival stations so the other tributes are too intimidated by your presence to take in anything the trainer's trying to teach them," he replies, struggling to contain his laughter. "I didn't know we needed to be so understated."

I scowl at him, which only makes him laugh more. "You won't be laughing when you're only eating in the arena because I paid attention, will you?"

"We'll have the supplies," he says, but I can tell he understands really.

"You're assuming there'll be any. Did you see Seneca Crane's face? He looks in an especially sadistic mood this year, so maybe he'll derive pleasure from seeing which tributes starve first."

In the rush to get to the lifts, I notice Glimmer walk slowly over to Thresh, and I'm shocked when he actually speaks to her. I wish I could hear what they're saying, and it seems that Cato does too, for he walks in their direction, obviously not wanting to miss any information that may be useful to us. I still don't think Thresh will ally with us though, no matter what Glimmer says or does. My kind are universally hated by the lesser districts, and I imagine he'd think it shameful to associate with us.

* * *

Realising I can't stand here waiting, I walk into the nearest lift and travel up to our floor alone, knowing that Cato will tell me anything I need to know later. I've only taken one step out of the lift when I suddenly wish I'd stayed in the gymnasium.

"Just move out of my way before I make you regret it, Augustus," I reply as my so-called mentor steps in front of me to block my path.

"Do you really think you're going to win the Games?" he says, sneering down at me.

"I think District 2 will have a victory this year, yes." I answer, my voice formal and stilted as I struggle to restrain my hatred and fury.

He laughs. "You'll never win. You're a disgrace to your father's memory. He would be ashamed to have such a weak little girl for a daughter."

"What would you know of my father?"

I keep my voice even and full of the loathing that I truly feel for the excuse for a man who stands before me, but even as I speak, I recognise the same mixture of feelings that I usually get at the mention of my father. That strange mix of anger, grief and shame I've felt since the last time I saw him, which was on the day before he was killed over five years ago.

I think about the other twenty-two tributes and I wonder how many of them said goodbye to their fathers when they left for the Capitol. I find it very hard to believe they'll have the same memory of that final parting as I do.

I've never forgotten the last words my father said to me. 'You will never win the Games, my girl. You're too weak. Physically weak and most of all, emotionally weak. I'm ashamed of you.' I can hear the words echo inside my head even as I stare defiantly up at Augustus, determined not to let him see that he's raised one of the two subjects that causes me genuine pain. I can't even remember the crime I'd committed to earn that speech and the accompanying beating that left me unable to walk for a week, but I've remembered his words since the day they left his mouth.

Every time I've been to training or fought someone in the gym or the Arena, I have remembered two things; those words and the fact that Cato doesn't believe them to be true, and those two things are all that has kept me going for the past five years.

"I know enough to know that you could never live up to his expectations. I've watched you strutting around the Training Centre with your lover, the pair of you thinking that you'll run the place one day, well not anymore. If by some miracle you come back from the arena, Clove, I will make sure that you never forget the moment he breathes his last. I will make sure that the rest of your life is a living nightmare."

"If I come back from the arena then I will make it my life's mission to kill you, Augustus. And if I do come back from the arena then do you really think I'll have anything left to lose?"

"I don't think I have much to be afraid of. Unless you're actually planning on killing him. What's the plan then? I'm your mentor, you can tell me. Are you going to fight him? Or are you going to take the coward's way out and stab him in the back? Maybe you could wait to see if one of the other tributes does it for you, but I wouldn't take that chance if I were you."

"Stop it!" I scream at him. "Just shut up!"

I'm shaking with rage by now, grieving because of an event that hasn't even happened yet, and when he steps forward, backing me against the wall, I lose control completely and lash out, punching him as hard as I can, catching him in the jaw so that his head snaps around and he staggers to the side. I'm about to hit him again as he pulls himself upright and raises his own fist to strike me back when I hear the lift bell ring once more.

"Augustus! Clove! Stop this now!"

I see the tall figure of my other mentor begin to stride towards us and I turn away, walking towards the wooden door at the end of the corridor. After a couple of steps I start to run, faster and faster, and before I know it I'm racing through the door and then through the sitting room until I reach my own set of rooms, the set of rooms I haven't even seen.

I've been maintaining this pretence that I can't wait to get into the arena, that I can't wait to start killing the other tributes, but I simply can't carry on. I feel like a bomb waiting to explode. I care little about the others. I've always known that I'd have to kill if our plans and dreams were going to become reality and it isn't like I haven't done it before. Their inevitable deaths don't mean very much to a person who has trained for the arena all their life, but I don't think I'll be able to face Cato across the gymnasium tomorrow, training with Capitol weapons that will be identical to the ones the Gamemakers are going to expect me to use to take his life. Something about Augustus's words made the reality of this situation finally come crashing down on top of me, and it's so heavy that I can't move. I can't even begin to see past my worst nightmare to try to think of a way out. There is no way out.

I pick up a candlestick from the fire surround and bring it crashing down onto a glass table. I don't make a sound when the table shatters and the shards of broken glass shred the skin of my forearm. My anger and sorrow consumes me so completely that I notice neither the pain nor the steady stream of blood that flows onto the white carpet.

I draw the carving knife that I'd taken from the dining room from my belt and throw it violently across the room with as much force as I can. The blade sinks deeply into the wooden panelling of the wall, quivering rapidly, but it still isn't enough, the rage and anger is still there just below the surface. I cross the room and grab the handle of the knife, but even when I pull with all of my strength it still won't come loose. I hear an enraged scream that I only just register as my own before I reach for the nearest glass vase and fling it across the room.

They can't do this to me! This can't be happening! I wish Vikus had just arranged my death in the Arena when I was a child like he'd been going to. I almost wish that Cato hadn't had the courage to intervene on that day four years ago, when the man who was to become my mentor had decided that my time was up. Anything would be better than this.

With every thought, another vase or ornament smashes to a million pieces on the previously spotless floor, and after a short time I hear a hammering on the door that seems to be coming from many, many miles away, accompanied by Vikus's furious shouts.

"Open this door right now! Clove!"

My response is to pick up one of the wooden chairs that are arranged around the small dining table and throw it against the door, and when I hear Selene's terrified squeal, the other quickly follows it.

"What's happening here? What's she doing? That's Capitol property!"

"Selene, either do something useful or disappear," replies Vikus in response to our Capitol escort's hysteria, his voice as commanding as ever.

Selene squeals again and I hear the sound of high-heeled shoes rapidly retreating down the corridor just before the hammering resumes. Vikus shouts again, louder than ever.

"I won't repeat myself again, open this door now!"

Another piece of furniture, this time a small, ornately carved table, joins the chairs as I'm still too enraged to speak. In the silence that follows the crash of the table, I'm surprised to hear the familiar sound of Selene's shoes, getting closer this time and accompanied by a second set of footsteps.

"Is this your idea of control?" she asks of Vikus, and although he says nothing, I can imagine the expression on his face. "There's no reasoning with them when they lose it like this, I've seen it before," she continues, her tone a lot more careful this time. "Maybe he can calm her down. I say we leave them to it."

"What's going on?"

I instantly recognise Cato's voice, speaking in the usual aggressive tone that he uses for both Vikus and our Capitol escort.

"Your girl's lost it," Vikus says bluntly "Augustus said something to her and she went mad."

Thanks for that vote of confidence, Vikus. That's rich coming from the man who was nearly executed by the Capitol for attacking another tribute before the start of the Games.

I pull a picture off the wall and throw it at the huge window, feeling both anger and disappointment when it clatters to the floor without even cracking the glass. The other picture soon follows it when I realise it's a copy of President Snow's most famous portrait. He is responsible for this, him and his Gamemakers, and I only wish I could break him into as many pieces as I did the picture that lies on the floor.

Hysterical screaming comes from the other side of the door now. "Do something! Kick the door down! Just stop her before she does any more damage! There's no way I'm going to be the one explaining to Seneca Crane that he has to go and get a new female tribute for District 2!"

Despite feeling my violent rage ebbing away even as I listen to Selene's hysterics, I feel a fresh wave of anger when I hear her say the name of the Head Gamemaker. I notice a solid gold letter opener on the floor and I pick it up, throwing it across the room like I would throw a knife, imaging that I'm aiming for the head of the person who conspired with fate to ruin my life. As it crashes into a glass fronted cabinet, making the whole thing shatter, I hear Cato's voice from the corridor once more.

"Just go, both of you. I'll sort this out," he says calmly and tiredly. I can tell he's as fed up with the Capitol as I am.

"You can't order me around, young man," says Selene, her voice increasing in pitch by the second. My rage subsides further as I imagine how much she would have to look up at Cato if she was to meet his eyes whilst attempting to convince him that she was still in charge here.

"Very well," he says silkily, "I'll just kick the door down and leave you with Clove then…"

I can't help smiling as the heels retreat quicker than I thought possible.

Now my rage has left me, I suddenly notice the throbbing pain from my arm, and as I look around the room, I notice for the first time the true extent of the destruction I've caused. Good. Finally my surroundings reflect what I'm feeling inside.

There's a loud crash, closely followed by the sound of splintering wood as the door flies inwards, the hinges ripping from the wall as Cato kicks it down. He takes one look at the chaos around him and then crosses the room to me, catching me as I sink to the floor crying floods of tears. He holds me tightly until I can cry no more, loosening his grip only to tear a strip of material from his very expensive-looking Capitol shirt before wrapping it tightly around my arm to stop the flow of blood.

"I'm sorry," I say eventually, with an unsuccessful attempt at a smile. "I suppose I'll be on my own if I keep being this pathetic."

"Pathetic? You? When have you ever been pathetic? Anyway, look around you. Have you seen the state of this room?" he replies, and we both laugh. He falls silent for several minutes before finally speaking again. "Nothing will happen to you in the arena, Clove. I won't let anything happen to you."

"Don't insult me by saying that. You know what I fear and it isn't pain or death."

"I won't allow you to die for me either, so don't even begin to think it," he growls, his lips millimetres from my ear.

I don't know what to say to that so I say nothing, and after a while a couple of Avoxes appear in what's left of the doorway, their eyes wide with shock. They turn to leave but Cato calls after them.

"We're leaving," he says to them before returning his focus to me. "You should get someone to look at your arm."

"You know better than to tell me that. Do you want some poor unfortunate to go the same way as this room? You've patched me up well enough in the past, I'm sure you'll manage just fine."

He smiles slightly and shakes his head. "You're crazy, did you know that? You always have been," he says as he stands up, lifting me in his arms as he does.

"You like me crazy," I retort, forcing myself to ignore the throbbing pain coming from my arm.

"Never doubt it," he replies, taking advantage of my temporary inability to fight back by lifting me up so I'm even closer. However as he carries me from the room, he continues a lot more seriously. "Vikus told me what happened. Augustus will pay for that, you have my word."

* * *

The very second I open my eyes, I can tell I've overslept. The light that shines through the windows is unusually bright for the Capitol and definitely isn't the pale light of dawn I'm used to. I can hear people walking around in the corridors outside, which immediately makes me suspicious although it takes me a few seconds to realise why.

Sitting up quickly, I look down at my bandaged arm and yesterday's events suddenly come flooding back. Knowing my luck, the Capitol people will be waiting outside right now to arrest me. I have no idea where Cato has gone but I wish he'd just walk through the door. Why didn't he wake me anyway?

It's when I remember how he swore to me that Augustus would pay for what he said that I panic and throw myself out of bed, hoping desperately that he hasn't done anything stupid. I have picked up and then discarded my own tunic because of its bloodstained, torn sleeve and pulled on one of Cato's instead, ignoring the fact I could fit inside it at least three times just like I used to do back home, before I recall that I'm not in District 2 anymore. I don't think turning up to breakfast wearing my 'district partner's' shirt would go down that well with Selene and Vikus.

I tentatively walk out into the corridor and push open the door to my own suite of rooms, expecting to see at least some remnant of yesterday's destruction, but when I step inside there are no officials waiting to arrest me, no broken furniture, no shards of glass or wood on the floor. There is actually not even the slightest hint that I had been in the room at all. Maybe they do intend to cover the whole incident up and I won't be immediately executed after all.

After making myself look as presentable as I can in a very short space of time, I race to the dining room before skidding to a halt in front of the door. After taking a deep breath, I walk in, trying desperately to portray a calmness that I don't feel.

As ever, the first person I see is Cato, and when he nods almost imperceptibly at the chair next to him, I walk over and sit down without a word. There is a tension in the room so great that it feels like I could reach out and touch it.

I look at Vikus, who is staring at Cato and doesn't seem to have even noticed my presence, but I get the first real indication that something has changed when I look at Augustus. District 2's second mentor looks at me, but when I meet his eyes I don't see any of his usual vicious arrogance. The leer I've loathed for years has suddenly vanished. I look closely at him, but other than the abrupt change in his attitude and demeanour, the only difference in him is a long, deep knife wound that runs along the whole length of one side of his face. Cato coughs pointedly and Augustus immediately averts his gaze from me and stares at the table.

I turn to Cato, wondering what he could possibly have done to the other man to induce such fear. Augustus sits upright in his chair, and he still moves with an ease that tells me he doesn't have wounds I can't see. Not physical wounds anyway. He isn't a good enough actor to pretend he isn't hurt when he is.

"What-" I start, only for Cato to kick me under the table, telling me not to continue. For once I do as I'm told, but I glare at him, making sure that he knows in no uncertain terms that I'll require an explanation later and that it had better be a good one.

* * *

As soon as the lift doors close and we begin our descent to the gymnasium for training, I turn to face Cato, abandoning all thoughts of maintaining our distance in public and stepping forward to stand millimetres away from him, tilting my neck back to meet his eyes.

"What did you do to him? He's a complete wreck. How could you be so stupid? If he tells the Capitol-"

I don't get the chance to finish, for he puts his hands on my shoulders, gripping me tightly as he interrupts my outburst of words.

"I don't care what your father did to his father or how pissed off he is that it's my bed you sleep in not his or whatever it is that makes him hate you so much, he went one step too far this time. And if you'd seen him before I did this morning then you would have killed him, I know that." I shake my head at that and try unsuccessfully to step away from him, but as he continues, I know he's probably right. "If we'd been anywhere other than here then I'd have fetched him for you so you didn't have to chase him when he ran away like the coward he is, but this isn't District 2. This is the Capitol and the Gamemakers would kill you. I will never let that happen."

"And if he tells the Gamemakers what you did? What then? Do you think I'll stand here and let them kill you?"

"I didn't do anything to him. I know we're not supposed to but we were having a practice fight outside of training and it went a bit too far. It was all an accident."

I smile when he says that as he sounds totally convincing. He's a much better actor than Augustus and I'm sure he could convince even the Capitol that his only crime was fighting outside of the gymnasium.

"I still don't need you to fight my battles for me."

"Have I ever said you did? But this way he'll be frightened enough for long enough for the Games to be over one way or another. The Games will decide his fate as well as ours."

I'm glad when the lift doors slide open as I really don't know how to answer that. What can I say? As much as I may wish it wasn't, everything he said is true.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"Hello, Sparkle," I say, almost gushing with false brightness as Glimmer slides gracefully into the chair beside me. "Did you drag yourself away from the Capitol photographers for long enough to get to training then? I _am _surprised."

"_Don't _call me Sparkle," she snarls forcefully, but I can see a twinkle in her eye that tells me she's no more being serious than I am.

Over the past couple of days I've rapidly come to the conclusion that the true Glimmer is about as unlike as the mask she wears as it's possible to get in a lot of ways. Somehow without really thinking about it, we've formed what I suppose some people would call a friendship, casually mocking each other at every opportunity with neither of us choosing to take offence.

"Are you girls fighting?" interrupts Marvel, the expression on his face taking innuendo to a whole new level. "Because that's a fight I'd pay to see."

"Do you want to die at the bloodbath, District 1?"

"Shut up, Marvel!"

I shout at exactly the same moment as Glimmer, which is a split second after Cato's growled question makes me scan the room in case the force of his reaction has given us away. Every tribute in the room turns and stares in our direction. The tension is only broken when we all laugh initially at the expressions of shock and terror on their faces, and then at the speed in which they look nervously away.

* * *

It's lunchtime on the third day of training, and that means there are probably only a few minutes left before the first tribute is called in for their opportunity to impress the Gamemakers without the rest of us watching. It's obvious from the change in the small room's atmosphere what everyone is thinking about.

Yesterday was much the same as the day before. More of the same exercises, the same weapons, the same careful observation of the other tributes to assess their strengths and weaknesses. I think I have an understanding of most of the competition now, and there were always going to be only a very few who could threaten me anyway. Not that that was ever the issue in the first place, especially not since the day of the reaping.

"Move out of the way, District 4," says Cato sharply, interrupting my thoughts and making me look up from the virtually untouched plate of food that rests on the table in front of me.

For some reason I've totally lost my appetite. I guess it's probably because I'll be facing the Gamemakers in a very short time and I simply can't stop myself from thinking about so many things that my head's spinning. I know if we impress them then they will remember us, and it's only through making them remember us that we will keep alive the tiny hope we have of them letting us both live.

I look up to see that Arturo has moved from one side of our small table to the other, sitting opposite Cato in just the right place to block his view of the double doors that lead to the gymnasium, and therefore also of the assistant who will soon emerge to call the first tribute. They've been arguing with each other since they first met, or I should probably say that despite his lack of acting skills ensuring his fear stands out for all to see, Arturo has been trying to show Cato that he isn't afraid of him while Cato ignores him with the casual contempt the boy deserves.

"Now," adds Cato, his voice so full of warning and command that he doesn't need to speak any louder.

Arturo swiftly returns to his original seat and starts up a conversation with Marvel, trying and failing to cover up the fact that Cato gave him an order and he obeyed like a twelve-year-old on his first day at the Training Centre.

By this stage of training I'm completely sick of the sight and sound of both Arturo and Marvel, so mercifully their conversation doesn't last long, as a very short time later one of the training assistants strides through the double doors and calls Marvel's name. I notice how he struts confidently into the gymnasium, and I secretly hope that he trips over his own feet and falls flat on his face in front of all twenty-four of the Gamemakers. Cato catches my eye and smirks. My hopes are never secret from him.

* * *

The five of us sit in silence after Marvel's departure, and time seems to speed up as first Glimmer and then Cato are called. As he left the room, Cato trailed his hand across my back and sauntered into the gymnasium just like he used to walk into the Arena at home - like he owned the place, full of his old and familiar confidence.

I couldn't help the pride I felt as he disappeared through the doors, and even several minutes later I still can't shake the thought that these Games would have been his if I hadn't been here. To see how the plan could all have worked so perfectly if my name hadn't been called on reaping day suddenly replaces my pride with sadness and anxiety, and I'm so lost in my own thoughts that the assistant has to call my name twice before I hear him and make my way into the gym.

As I walk into the huge room, I look up at the stands to watch the Gamemakers, most of whom look decidedly more interested in their banquet than they do in me. After waiting for a couple of minutes, rapidly losing my patience and reaching the conclusion that I should just start or I'll be here all day, Seneca Crane himself looks up from his plate and nods to indicate that I should continue.

I don't really have a plan for my demonstration so I just move from one station to another, fighting the assistants who step forward at the weapons stations and completing the tasks laid out at the survival stations. I have the vague idea of leaving knife throwing until the end, deciding to leave my greatest skill until last in the hope that is what the Gamemakers will remember me by, but as I leave the climbing wall and head over to the knives, I glance up at the stands once more and feel the sudden urge to scream with frustration.

So far I've done sword-fighting, knife-fighting, spear-throwing, shelter-building, edible plants _and _climbing, showing what I am sure is a much higher than average level of skill in every discipline, and still most of the Gamemakers are looking at me like they've seen it all before. Maybe they have. After all, being a Gamemaker isn't exactly a job you can leave or resign from if you've had enough, so most of them have been sitting in those stands each and every year since well before I was born.

However, even if they are determined to remain indifferent, I need to make an impression on the them, we both do. Being better than average simply isn't enough. When we get into the arena we will need them to remember us. That's our only chance.

I walk over to the knives again, looking at the wall of easy, straight-forward and uninspiring targets. They're still the same ones I got bored of after the first half an hour of training and that won't do. It won't be enough and I know I can do so much more. I look around the room, searching for a more ambitious target, but I see nothing. Nothing except the camouflage station, which is still untouched and stands one table to my right.

I cross over to it quickly, picking a pot of the thickest and most brightly coloured berry paste I can see before walking over to the far wall, which is much further away than the actual targets, and painting small circles onto it in random places. As I turn to walk back to the knives, I look up at the Gamemakers again and see that I definitely have their attention now. They're all looking at me like I've lost my mind.

I take a deep breath and try to clear my head but it doesn't seem to work. All I can see is flashbacks of my life at the Training Centre, all I can hear is first my father's last words to me and then Augustus repeating them all over again. I can feel my arm shaking but I know I have no choice but to try, so I reach out to lift the first knife anyway. When I do, my sleeve falls back to reveal the vivid bruises on my wrist that still haven't faded since Cato put them there during the Opening Ceremony. I focus on them, and my father and Augustus disappear, leaving only him, and a split second later I regain my composure and the knife sinks into the wooden panelling, right in the centre of one of my tiny makeshift targets.

I throw two more knives before I risk looking up at the stands, which both hit different targets with as much precision as the first. But when I do see them, the Gamemakers aren't laughing at my supposed insanity any longer. They're looking unblinkingly from me to the impossibly small berry paste targets in stunned silence.

I'm about to approach them once more when I change my mind and take a round piece of fruit I don't recognise from the edible plants table. I throw it high into the air away from me, then quickly take one of the two remaining knives from the table and throw it to spear the fruit to the wall before it gets anywhere near the floor.

Keeping my face blank and emotionless, I tuck the last knife into my belt and cross over to face the Gamemakers, inclining my head ever so slightly before slowly walking to the lifts. I press the lift button to open the doors, and as the bell rings I rapidly spin around, throwing the final knife across the entire length of the gymnasium and into the neck of one of the dummies that serve as targets at the spear throwing station.

The last thing I hear as the lift doors slide shut are the startled gasps of the Gamemakers. They'll remember District 2 this year. I'm certain of it.

* * *

The lift doors slide open and I reach Level 2 to find Cato standing in the corridor waiting for me. The first thing he does is lift my hands up, looking questioningly at the red stains left on my pale skin by the berry paste.

I smile and shrug my shoulders. "The targets were far too easy so I had to improvise."

"Some people and their overactive imaginations," he says, shaking his head in mock disapproval as he drapes his arm almost possessively across my shoulders and we walk towards the now familiar wooden door.

I can sense a change in the atmosphere as soon as I open the door, and from the way Cato lets his arm drop to his side as he takes a step away from me, I can tell he can too.

As I walk past the sideboard, I take an ornamental candlestick and hold it up like a weapon, creeping towards the open doorway of the dining room. Cato remains stationary behind me, trusting my ability to move silently far more than he does his own.

I step into the room to see a plainly dressed woman, her long, almost black hair obscuring her face as she leans over the mass of papers that are strewn across the dining table. When I look closely, I recognise the elaborate, stylised writing on them as belonging to Vikus. As far as I know, my mentor trusts nobody, so who is this woman and what is she doing here?

"What are you doing?" I snap, and the woman jumps in response, lifting her head sharply so her hair is flung back behind her shoulders.

I gasp in surprise and recognition as she smiles at me and her gold-tipped teeth glisten in the room's artificial lights.

"Look at you," she says in a false, sickly sweet voice, talking to me as if I'm five years old. "Little Clovey all grown up. And just look how big and strong her guard dog is now."

I turn behind me, looking at Cato to see his response to such an insult from a woman as powerful as Enobaria. I've barely seen the woman who became famous across all of Panem for winning her Games by ripping out her final opponent's throat with her teeth since I was thirteen years old. It was her who convinced Vikus to order me to kill in the Arena for the first time at such a young age, and I know by the way she looks at me now that she hasn't forgotten that day any more than I have.

I will remember that day forever because it was the day I should have died. The day that Vikus, in a fit of temper, decided to send one of us after another into the Arena to fight for the amusement of himself and the other mentors. He allowed most to live, knowing that if a lot of us ended up dead then District 2's prospects in the Games for the next couple of years would be severely compromised, something he would never dream of allowing, but I had been one of the unlucky ones.

He'd sent me into the Arena against a boy who was much older and stronger than me with a sword I could barely lift as my only weapon when I was little more than a child. It was only Cato passing me my knives, choosing to risk his own life by disobeying Vikus's direct command not to interfere, that spared me.

I still remember the moment I overcame my opponent, standing over his defeated figure to see Enobaria lean across to whisper into Vikus's ear and a second later for him to lower his thumb in a signal for me to end the boy's life. I had done it, not necessarily because I wanted to, but because I knew without a doubt that Vikus would kill Cato for his disobedience if I didn't prove myself to him. That being said, although there's no love lost between my mentor and I, I still maintain that he would never have forced me to make that choice when I was still so young if it hadn't been for Enobaria's influence. An influence that she appears to retain.

"I'd rather be her guard dog than the Capitol's lapdog, Enobaria," replies Cato coolly, stepping into the room to stand by my side.

"Be careful, Boy. You could be about to make yourself a very powerful enemy."

He raises his hands slightly, having the sense to see that she's right. "I'm not making enemies. An insult for an insult and now we're even."

"Were the Gamemakers impressed with you?" asks Vikus as he appears in the doorway and walks into the room, not seeming at all surprised to see Enobaria.

"Why wouldn't they be?" replies Cato. "What is this?" he adds, looking from Vikus to Enobaria and then to the paperwork on the table.

"None of your business," says Enobaria, smiling a fake smile that doesn't reach her cold grey eyes. "Ask me again if you survive the next few weeks."

She gathers the papers together and hands the pile to Vikus as she passes him, abruptly leaving the room. A few seconds later I hear the door to the corridor open and then slam shut.

"I have to go somewhere. I'll be back before the training scores are televised."

With that final comment, Vikus leaves the room as rapidly as his fellow victor. I'm left behind in the dining room, standing beside Cato as we look at each other in confusion.

* * *

After Vikus' abrupt departure, there's nothing we can do but stay here and wait for the training scores. There are probably several tributes still waiting to give their demonstrations so it could be hours yet.

"What was all that about?" asks Cato as we enter the television room.

I try but I can't help gazing around at the room, at the soft rugs on the floor, the fine crystal glasses in the cabinet on the wall. Before I came here, I'd never seen anything like it. If I'm honest then I never really wanted to, and now I'm here, it's just making me uncomfortable. Not that I'd ever let it show to anyone but Cato, who I'm sure knows already.

"I've no idea. Probably Enobaria's plans for world domination," I reply lightly.

He laughs and flops into the nearest armchair, casually treating the place like an extension of District 2 as usual. I don't know how he does it, especially because I've felt constantly on edge from the second I arrived here.

"I know I've always said she isn't all there but I think that might be a bit far-fetched even for her."

"You know why she is the way she is, Cato," I tell him, suddenly tense and deadly serious as I shudder at the thought of what happened to her all those years ago.

In an attempt to clear my head of the thought, I walk over to the strange Capitol machine that actually makes hot drinks for you and push the button for hot chocolate, waiting for one mug to fill up before getting another. I cross the room and hold out a mug to Cato, but he ignores it and instead chooses to lift me off the ground and onto his lap. Only when I've settled against him does he take both mugs from me and put them on the table.

"Relax, Clove. There's nobody here but us."

"They probably have hidden cameras in the light fittings," I say only half-jokingly as I try to get up.

He holds me just tightly enough for me to realise standing up is going to be a total impossibility, also understanding that if I hadn't wanted him to touch me then I'd have fought back long before he got this close. We're an even match, but if it's a question of strength alone then he always wins. Sometimes I worry that I like that a bit too much for a Training Centre girl even most of our mentors think twice about arguing with.

"Give it up, Little Girl. You're mine."

I turn to look up at him, giving him my best Arena death-glare, but his response is just to laugh that fake, cold laugh that's so often the last thing his opponents hear before they're knocked unconscious or worse. He only loosens his hold slightly when I stop my less than half-hearted struggling and give in to the inevitable, choosing instead to drink my chocolate before it goes cold.

"Always," he whispers, leaning so close that his lips brush against my ear.

"Always," I echo, not having to think about it.

Anyone else but him probably wouldn't recognise me if they saw me at this moment, but I don't care. I'm a lot of things but I'm not a liar, and there's never been a truth I'm more certain of. Even if we are about to go into the same arena.

* * *

We spend the next couple of hours deliberately avoiding the subject of the Games entirely and coming up with increasingly more outrageous theories about what Enobaria and Vikus are plotting. It's only when I hear the main door open, closely followed by the sound of Selene's high pitched voice, that I dive out of the warmth and comfort of Cato's arms and into the adjacent chair. I hope I've managed to sit in a position that convinces them I've been here for a while, as a short time later our Capitol escort and both mentors appear.

"Rumour has it that the Gamemakers had a few surprises this year," says Vikus as he switches the television on.

The room is suddenly full of the sound of the grating voice that belongs to the same presenter who hosted the reaping review.

"I'm sure they did," I reply with a smirk that doesn't escape my mentor's notice.

Marvel's face suddenly appears on the screen, and seconds later the number eight flashes underneath his photograph. Cato and I both laugh.

"This is a serious business," says Selene in response, every inch of her clearly showing her annoyance at our reaction. "What could possibly be funny?"

"The way the arrogant fool was talking in training, you would've thought he was going to get the first ever twelve. It's just nice to imagine his disappointment."

She sighs at me in disapproval and shakes her head, but that doesn't stop me from smiling as Cato rolls his eyes at her.

Glimmer's flawless face appears next and she is given a nine. Cato looks vaguely surprised, but I'm not at all shocked by how she's proven to be deadly as well as beautiful. I think some other people might be though. They don't see her for who she really is like I do. She may have been brought up in the relative luxury of the superficial place we know back home as the 'Capitol-district', but she has inner strength and determination that makes her different from their usual tribute and wouldn't be out of place in District 2. I would go as far as to say that if she'd had my upbringing and training then she would probably have provided me with some real competition.

I'm also not surprised when Cato and I both score ten. I look at him and can tell he's struggling to remain emotionless, on the outside at least, so I try to do the same. Vikus does nothing to help the situation as usual, despite my certainty that he doesn't limit his spying to the other districts' tributes and mentors and therefore isn't anywhere near as ignorant of what's going on as I wish him to be.

"Still evenly matched then. I'm sure you'll give the viewers a fight to remember in the arena."

I stare straight ahead at the screen, barely noticing the very low scores given to the tributes from District 3, and I see Cato's hands clench into tight fists as they rest on the arms of his chair. Arturo and Varia's scores, both eights, have been announced before I breathe again.

"As predicted," says Cato flatly. "They're weak compared to us. We don't need them. Do you still seriously want us to work with these people?"

"Don't start," snaps our mentor in reply. "The plan will be what it has always been."

I'm about to defend both Cato's question and his logic, which seem perfectly reasonable to me, when my attention is taken by the television as Lysandra's unnatural-looking, amber eyes stare out at me. She scores a six, the high side of average for a girl with no training but average nevertheless. However I quickly come to the conclusion that her score means very little. I've watched her for the past three days, observing how she went only to the survival stations but failed every test like she was the stupidest tribute in the room. Yet I also notice that while she may be tiny and undernourished, she doesn't have the same hollow, half-starved look as her male counterpart.

I know even less about District 5 than I know about District 1, but I do know that its main industry is science and that the most intelligent children are selected to work in the labs. And I have to assume they must be fed or they wouldn't have the energy to work. Vikus told me that a long time ago and he had no reason to lie. I could be way off the mark but what if I'm not? What if Lysandra is one of the Capitol's lab rats, whose plan to ensure her own survival has been to hide behind a mask of stupidity during the build up to the Games so she can convince the likes of us that she's no threat? Her responses to Cato in the gym on the first day of training were not those of a person as lacking in intelligence as she appeared to be for the rest of the time. I'll be watching for her. There is no way I'll play my part in her little game without a fight.

The other tributes all blend into one another, a series of starving, petrified children and young adults who will be lucky to live past Day One in the arena. I've watched a recording of every Hunger Games that's taken place since it started seventy-four years ago. When the odds haven't been deliberately altered by the Gamemakers, I've learnt to pick out which tributes will live to see the final days of the Games and which will not before they even reach the arena. And I can say almost certainty that nobody from 6,7,8 or 9 will live to see their home districts again. Most of them look like they're dead already, totally devoid of hope and willing to go down without the merest hint of a fight.

My interest is only held again when the crippled boy from District 10 appears on the screen with a score of five. Five points may not be much of a score really, but considering his disability, it's almost like me scoring twelve. I wish that I could have seen what he showed the Gamemakers. He must have shown them something he'd held back in training or he would have been lucky to score higher than a two.

The girl from 10 scores a pitiful five, pitiful because she doesn't have her male counterpart's disability to overcome, and then Thresh's face appears on the screen accompanied by a ten. I shouldn't be surprised given his stature, as he probably could have simply walked into the gymnasium and stood in the middle of the room staring at the Gamemakers and they still would have scored him highly, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. An untrained orchard worker from somewhere as pathetic as District 11 getting the same score as us? The Gamemakers must be losing their minds. Thresh might have strength to rival Cato's but what does that matter if he can't fight?

"And you say he refused to ally with you?" asks Vikus for what seems like the hundredth time, abruptly interrupting my thoughts.

"He didn't want to know. He seemed to take quite a shine to Glimmer but he even turned her down in the end."

"You all tried and he still said no?"

My mentor sounds genuinely surprised that the man from District 11 would refuse to join us, though I have no idea why. Vikus knows as well as we all do that Thresh wouldn't have lasted long once the bloodbath was over. Perhaps he's just surprised the man had the intelligence to see that, as everyone knows the citizens of District 11 aren't exactly famous for their intellect.

"He doesn't want to bring shame upon his family and his district by allying with Careers."

Vikus laughs, a short, sharp sound that greatly resembles a bark. "You must be losing you powers of persuasion, Jacia," he says, looking intently at me in a way that's suddenly a little too close to the way Augustus used to, although I suspect Vikus does it only to unnerve me and for no other reason.

Cato scowls in response to both the look and the implied slur on my reputation, though I don't know why he bothers about the latter when I've barely spent a night away from his bed for the past two years and last time I checked he hadn't married me.

"She didn't speak to him. I did," he says harshly.

"Maybe that explains things," Vikus replies, before focussing on the television once more and then abruptly changing the subject, his tone becoming clipped and even more aggressive than normal. "What do you know about that girl? There must be something."

I look to see the now familiar and much despised face of Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire herself, with the number eleven under her picture. Eleven. How can that be possible? We've suspected her of hiding something from the moment we saw her reaping, but what could she possibly have done to earn that score?

Now every viewer, every sponsor and, more importantly, every Gamemaker is going to remember her more than any other tribute. More than us, and that can only mean death. Death for me, but hopefully death for Katniss Everdeen as well, because I fully intend to take her with me when I go.

I look at Cato and see he seems to be temporarily incapable of speaking. I wait for the rush of temper, but for once it doesn't come. I reach out and touch his arm, my small, pale hand standing out against his darker skin. He turns to face me and both the look in his eyes and his words confirm that he was thinking the same as I was. He might not have started destroying furniture like he may have in the past, but the anger is still there. If anything then it's increased, just like mine.

"They won't remember her if she dies at the Cornucopia on Day One, will they?"

* * *

Vikus had tried to make us stay up late last night, going over what we had to do and how we should react to various scenarios over and over again until I thought my head was going to explode. In the end I decided I couldn't take any more and left the room to go to bed.

It's only now I've woken up and remembered that today I have to face the torture of interview training that I realise I instinctively went to Cato's room and not my own.

"Do you think we'll get the day off?" he asks, his voice telling me how unoptimistic he is about getting a positive response to his question. "It's not like they have to think of an angle for us for the interviews."

"Not likely," I reply disappointedly. "Selene wants to transform me so I can do what she thinks I have to in the interviews, which is…what were her words…'act like you're a member of a civilised society even if you have been dragged up in that brutal and barbaric place.'"

Cato laughs at my imitation of Selene's extreme Capitol accent. "There's nothing wrong with you the way you are. And if she's using herself as a model of all that's good and civilised then she's as deluded as she is self-obsessed."

I stand up and walk over to him, clinging to his arm in mock terror as I plead with him to save me from the horrors and torment that are sure to be inflicted upon me by our Capitol escort. We both laugh, but as he pulls me in front of him and looks into my eyes, we suddenly become serious once more.

"I'll always save you, you know that."

"We'll see," I reply, knowing full well that we aren't talking about Selene any more.

"Cato! Clove! You've both got ten seconds to get in the dining room!"

My heart skips a beat as I instantly recognise the all too familiar mad fury in Vikus's voice. Not again. Please not now. I've seen the devastating consequences of his crazed tempers far too often, and for the very first and only time I feel almost glad that I'm here in the Capitol and not back home. There is only so far he can go here and I know he knows that, but unfortunately it still tells me that he means business with the interview training. It looks like Cato will have even less chance of getting his day off than I thought.

"If that man knew how much closer he gets to his own death every time he issues me with an order…" says Cato, looking like he's seriously considering forgetting the fact that he'd decided to win the Games before giving in to his desire for revenge on our mentor.

It bothers me that he's started to think that way. It's almost like he's starting to think for the first time in his life that he isn't going to leave the arena.

"He'll know soon enough," I say, starting to push him over to the door and then almost falling over when he actually walks in the direction I'm pushing him rather than doing what he usually does, which is turning to look at me and not moving, ensuring I remember that I couldn't push him anywhere even if I used all of my strength.

He seems to sense what I'm thinking, because I find myself pinned against the door before I can react. He lifts me up, holding me where he wants me with his body, and my feet hang, pointed down towards the floor because he doesn't even giving me the space I need to lift my legs up around him.

"You're slipping, Nightlock," he whispers as he leans in impossibly close, his breath warm against my neck. "I could kill you right now."

"But you wouldn't," I reply, pulling my hand free and reaching up to trail my fingers across his throat.

I'm glad when he kisses me for more reasons than the obvious. When he kisses me I can get lost in him and forget that what I said is a painful truth that will break me quicker than anything else ever could.

* * *

When we finally reach the dining room, walking at a leisurely pace because we're determined not to make Vikus think we were rushing for him, I see my mentor and Selene sitting at opposite ends of the massive table. Augustus is nowhere to be seen, and I'm not surprised. I've seen very little of him since he suffered the consequences of our altercation in the corridor.

"Aren't you looking forward to tomorrow, Clove?" gushes Selene as soon as she sees me. "Every girl wants to look beautiful for her big day in front of the cameras."

"Am I supposed to dignify that question with a response?" I retort, managing to keep my face emotionless despite Cato's blatant amusement at my reply.

Selene shakes her head as if she's actually the one who should be ashamed of me, muttering under her breath constantly. The only words I manage to make out are: "Why did I get District 2? I told them I wanted 1, it would have made everything so much easier and less stressful."

Less stressful? As if her life has ever been stressful. She wouldn't know what stress is. I smile anyway though, secretly thinking that she wouldn't have been much better off with District 1, not this year anyway. Glimmer knows the role she'll have to play in the interviews as well as I know mine, but I can't imagine her being in a rush to start discussing hair styles and make-up tips with someone as oblivious to the reality of the Games as Selene either.

* * *

Selene rose to her feet and walked towards the sitting room soon after, beckoning for me to follow her, and so began the past three hours of torture. She started by giving me a long and amazingly complicated lecture about how I should sit when I'm on the stage ('you have to look relaxed, not like you're poised to leap to your feet and obliterate the front row of the audience,'), then continued with how I should look at the cameras ('you are an attractive young woman, try to smile and at least pretend to be happy,'), and now finally it seems like the last topic is going to be how to walk in the ridiculously high heels that she produces with a flourish from behind her chair.

"Put these on and try walking around the room," she says, and I reluctantly do as she instructs, kicking off the embroidered silk slippers that are actually the only item of Capitol clothing I don't loathe with a passion, and replacing them with the offending shoes.

I quickly rise to my feet and walk in a circle around her chair, looking straight at her and not bothering to hide the smug expression that must be clear to see on my face. I might not be used to wearing heels but my years of training have given me excellent balance and coordination so it isn't much of an effort.

She looks disappointed that I accomplished her instruction with an ease she obviously didn't expect, but she says nothing, reaching behind her chair once more and producing a roll of material that, when she shakes it out, appears to be a long skirt. She stands up and walks over to me, moving to wrap the skirt around my waist so she can tie it at the front.

Less than a second later she gives an outraged gasp when I snatch the material from her and jump backwards.

"Young lady, you have the worst attitude of any tribute I have ever chaperoned!" she shrieks, appearing to be so shocked by my reaction that she has to flop back into her chair, unable to keep her feet.

I smirk at her in response, my breathing slowly returning to normal. "I don't like people touching me," I say. "But I'm honoured to be worthy of such an accolade anyway."

I finish tying the skirt, which is clearly made for a much taller person as it's so long that it trails on the floor behind me, before walking around the room once more. "Are you happy now? The viewers know what to expect from District 2 and they'll be disappointed if they don't get it. You might not like it but I know you understand that. "

Selene holds up her perfectly manicured hands, defeat written all over her face. "I'm not happy but you do have a point. And nobody can deny that you're everything the audience will expect a girl from District 2 to be."

I take that as a compliment and walk back into the dining room with my head held high, pausing only to pick up my slippers as I leave. If I didn't then Selene would probably take great pleasure from making me wear the incredibly uncomfortable high heels for the rest of the day as a punishment for my insolence.

Cato raises an eyebrow at me when I cross the room and sit beside him, but I say nothing, noticing the roughly drawn diagrams scattered on scraps of paper across the table. He and Vikus have obviously been discussing the arena rather than the interviews and I feel a wave of annoyance that I was excluded. Vikus and Selene are having a whispered discussion on the opposite side of the room, and I resolutely refuse to look at Cato until he eventually gives up trying to get my attention and drops a piece of paper onto my lap instead. I look down and read the two words written on it: 'Nothing changes'.

Then I look at him and he smiles slightly in return. "He didn't say anything he hasn't said thousands of times before," he whispers in a voice I can barely hear. "You know he has a one-track mind and the Games are all he ever thinks about."

We both look up as Selene flounces from the room in a flurry of lime green silk and Vikus approaches our end of the table.

"Well there isn't much point in training you separately. I think there's very little about each other that you don't already know," he says, with such a lack of subtlety that it would be a real effort to miss the meaning behind his words.

I'm torn between wanting to sink a knife into his heart and wanting to slide onto Cato's lap just to see what he'd do. However in the end I do neither, and it's Cato who speaks first.

"We've been training for years, Vikus. Can't we just leave it now?" he asks, phrasing it as a question but sounding more like a man who's about to get up and leave the room of his own accord than one who's asking for permission.

"You're going into the arena in less than two days. Preparation has never been more important."

"We're the most skilled tributes you've ever trained," I say, sensing that Cato's grip on his temper is getting weaker by the second and deciding to intervene. "Do you really think the others are any competition? As long as you have a victor then nothing else matters to you, does it? Anyway, we know how to deal with the interviews. All we have to do is be ourselves and the Capitol audience will love us."

"So he's going to be a hot-headed, ruthless killer and you're going to be cold, clinical and emotionless then?"

"Well I can giggle and simper like a pathetic little girl if you want, but I don't think it will do either of us any good and you'll have to let me go and practice because it'll take a little work."

I could tell from his shouting first thing this morning that something has happened to put my mentor in a foul mood, and I know from past experience how dire the consequences of aggravating him further can be. I've seen countless people die at his hands over the years, but I'm really past caring.

I'm not surprised when he sends a jug and bowl flying from the table across the room to the floor, where it smashes with a loud crash, and I'm not surprised when he draws himself up to his full height and walks threateningly towards me. I'm not surprised but I'm not scared either.

"I've had just about enough of your disrespect, Clove Jacia," he roars, standing over me.

I've always been famous throughout our Training Centre for being one of the few people who dares to answer back to Vikus, and he has a scar on his arm from one of my knives to prove it. But I've also always been aware of exactly how far to push him and have very, very rarely overstepped that mark. This time, however, I don't back down but quickly stand up and move out of the way of my chair, dropping into a fighting stance, fully prepared to fight him despite being unarmed.

My anger only increases when he laughs. "You really are ready for the arena aren't you, girl? It's just a shame your name was drawn because District 2 would've had two consecutive victories if you'd come here next year when you were meant to."

I rock backwards and forwards slightly on the balls of my feet, not quite trusting his response and fully expecting him to lunge forward to send me flying across the room. It wouldn't be the first time if he did.

"Just sit down. I'm sure whichever one of you leaves the arena will get your chance for vengeance soon enough."

* * *

"For the last time, if we knew what Katniss Everdeen was hiding then we would have told you," I say exasperatedly many hours later.

We've been watching replays and discussing the other tributes for hours without a break and I'm seriously losing the will to live.

First I watch the clock, then I watch the blank wall, but I very quickly get bored with both and watch Cato instead. That is until he senses my gaze and looks right back at me. He has that look in his eyes, the one he has when he's fighting in the ring, the one he has when he comes to me straight afterwards and doesn't much care about the bruises he leaves on my skin. I have to look away, because pathetic though it is, I want him so much that it hurts.

Instead I revert to watching the clock again, desperate for escape from the same one-sided discussion that has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. First my father and then Vikus, both as in love with the sound of their own voices as each other and constantly feeling the need to tell me how I should act and what I should think. Honestly, I'm surprised that I'm not as unhinged as Enobaria by now, but then, thinking about it, I suppose that if I'd endured all that she did then I'd be a whole lot more unstable than she is so I'm not really in a position to judge.

When Vikus finally decides he's had enough and says we can leave the room, Cato and I are both nearly out of the door in a split second. However we don't quite make it, and I physically cringe when my mentor calls me back.

"Just go," I say to Cato as he looks at me and then back into the room, clearly thinking that Vikus probably hasn't forgotten my earlier rebellion and that he intends to make me pay for my actions. "I'm for the arena in less than two days. He knows he'd be damaging District 2's chances of victory if he damaged me."

Cato reaches out to tuck my hair behind my ear before walking slowly away. "If you're not standing in front of me in ten minutes then I'll be back to find you. And to kill him."

* * *

I walk reluctantly back into the dining room and Vikus nods to the chair opposite him. When I sit down, perched on the edge of the seat and as tense as a tribute from District 3 on their metal podium at the Cornucopia, he stares at me and we sit in an uncomfortable silence.

"Did you want to say something to me?" I ask, unable to bear it any longer.

"Do you think you can win the Games, Clove?" he says, answering my question with one of his own.

"Of course."

"_This _Games?"

"Of course," I repeat, because technically I'm not lying.

He shakes his head and grimaces. "Drop the act, girl. You and Cato might have many talents but acting isn't one of them so you can't fool me. What are you going to do in the arena when you have to face each other?"

"Fight. We always have to fight. That's what we do, isn't it? That's what you would have me believe."

"Can you seriously see yourself killing him? Do you think he will kill you?"

"The Hunger Games can only have one victor. He'll kill me if he has to."

"No he won't. I know that boy and he's been a killer since the day he was born, but when it comes to you he's completely irrational. He'll kill himself before he kills you."

"He won't kill himself because I won't let him," I reply fiercely, suddenly consciously acknowledging what I have subconsciously known to be true since my name was drawn from the reaping ball: I will not allow him to die so I can live.

"If it comes to it then I don't think he's planning on giving you a choice. He's been willing to die for you since he was fourteen years old, you remember that day as well as I do."

"That was different."

"You know it's not. You're not stupid now, Clove, and you weren't then. You knew I'd have killed him if you hadn't proved yourself to me and he knew it too, and yet he still fetched you the knives because it was the only way to save you. He didn't know how you'd react to the order I gave you any more than I did, but he did it anyway because he put your life before his own."

I look away from him and stare unseeingly into the darkness that lies outside the huge window, almost wishing that Vikus had wanted to beat me senseless instead. Anything would be better than this. Anything would be better than being forced to confront reality.

"What does it matter to you? We've already told you that one way or another you'll get your victory."

"I'm just curious. I've never known a situation like it. I think your doomed little romance is making Hunger Games history," he says, and I'm struck anew by how truly cold and emotionless he really is. Every single person in the Training Centre that he has devoted most of his life to maintaining and improving is just a piece in a game to him. Our lives are merely a source of entertainment in the same way that they are to the people of the Capitol.

"You can't hurt us now, Vikus. I don't have to stay and listen to this," I say with a calmness that I don't feel inside, before abruptly getting to my feet and leaving the room, slamming the door loudly behind me.

* * *

A couple of hours later I lie staring into the darkness of the bedroom, unable to sleep because I can't escape Vikus's words, which swim around endlessly in my head and refuse to give me a second of peace. I listen to Cato's breathing for long enough to tell that he's asleep and then for a bit longer, before carefully sliding out from under his arm so he doesn't wake and slipping off the edge of the huge Capitol bed.

I walk down the corridor and into the television room, feeling cold in my thin Capitol-made nightdress that already has a tear in it. The room looks different and more sinister in the darkness and I've never liked the dark anyway, so I quickly switch on one of the lamps as I sink into one of the massive armchairs.

It takes about two minutes for me to realise my change of scenery has done nothing to remove the nightmares that haunt my mind but I sit there shivering anyway, fighting my desperate urge to go running back to Cato. I have to fight it, because I know that running to him won't be an option this time tomorrow.

I'd better get used to the cold.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The first thing I notice when I wake up is the sound of voices frantically whispering to each other. I don't know who they are, but for a second the thought crosses my mind that they must either be the very bravest or the very stupidest people in the district if they dare to even think about setting foot this room. However at about the same time, as I realise the voices aren't speaking with the familiar accent of home but the high-pitched, false tones of the Capitol, I abruptly remember where I am. Not wanting them to realise I'm no longer asleep until I decide what to do next, I keep my eyes closed and my breathing even.

It takes me a minute but when I've thought about it, I remember walking to the television room last night, and I remember sitting there shivering in the cold as I thought of the arena until I drifted into an uneasy sleep filled with nightmares I can't recall. A short time later I remember relaxing as the cold and the nightmares suddenly went away, and now I'm awake and can recognise the familiar weight of Cato's arms around me, I know why.

"They look so harmless when they're asleep," says a vaguely familiar, whining voice that somehow manages to make my stomach fill with butterflies instantly.

"How could you expect us to still be asleep when you're making all that noise?" answers Cato, making me open my eyes and then immediately wish I hadn't.

I'm still in the television room, curled up in the arms of the man who is supposed to be my enemy in an armchair surrounded by all six members of the District 2 prep team.

On hearing Cato's voice they all step back and start manically shrieking to each other in their strange, ridiculous language, giving me the opportunity to half sit up so I can look into his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss, but he doesn't reply. He just looks at me, his stare so intense that I can't look away. "Well?" I say eventually, realising the prep team won't talk amongst themselves forever.

"I woke up and you weren't there. I got up to look for you," he answers unrepentantly, trailing his fingertips up and down my side through the rip in my nightdress.

"You obviously found me so why didn't you just go back to bed?"

"And leave you here? I don't think so."

My anger fades a little at that but I still glare at him in response. "Well, you still shouldn't have stayed here. You should have taken me with you if it bothered you that much."

His face hardens at my words and he stares into the distance as if remembering something. "You were having a nightmare. The one you used to have. I tried to move you but you were crying out and screaming. I couldn't wake you and I didn't want Vikus and Selene in here. I know what you'd feel if you knew they saw you like that."

"Oh," is the only reply I can manage.

I had the same nightmares about being trapped in the dark, underground room under the Training Centre for years after Vikus had held me there as a child, but over the past couple of years they've faded away until I didn't think I'd ever have to suffer them again. But it seems everything that's happened combined with being alone in the cold, dark room made them return. All I can think of is how much I desperately hope I don't cry out in my sleep in the arena. The thought of revealing such weakness in front of the other tributes makes me feel physically sick. I have to be strong. I have to be the Clove the Training Centre knows. Right now, that's about the only thing I know for certain.

I'm about to attempt to construct a better response to what Cato said but I don't get the opportunity, as the most despised member of my prep team, the man I know only as 'Pink Hair', reaches out to grab my wrist, trying to pull me to my feet.

"Hurry up, girl! It's going to take us all day to get you ready for your moment in the spotlight!"

I yank my arm back instantly and am more relieved than I can say when Cato doesn't let me go.

"Now there's no need for this performance all over again," begins Pink Hair, and my feeling of relief abruptly turns to one of panic when Cato pushes me off his lap and onto the chair, standing up to stare down at the offending member of my prep team like he would at one of his unfortunate opponents in the Arena back home.

I sigh inwardly as I have no choice but to quickly calm down. It's not that I don't appreciate the sentiment behind Cato's actions when he acts like this, but I do wish he'd remember where we are. If we were back in District 2 then I would be fighting with him not thinking about trying to stop him, and it wouldn't be the first time. But this is the Capitol and you can't simply attack anybody who offends you.

I get up and push myself in front of Cato so I stand between them, turning my back on a terrified looking Pink Hair to look up into my lover's eyes. For a second it's like he doesn't even see me, and I suddenly realise this is what his opponents and the other tributes must see when they look at him. Blind and merciless hate and rage contained inside a body that is quite capable of destroying a person with very little effort. Then he looks down at me and that expression vanishes in an instant.

"It doesn't matter. Leave it. This is the way it is, I'll just have to deal with it," I say, deciding that I can't deal with the prep team and Cato's temper at the same time.

"Cicero!" shouts yet another Capitol-accented voice from the doorway. "When I tell you to wait, I expect you to wait. Would you disobey Claudius like this?"

I turn around just in time to see my pink-haired tormentor, whose name I now know to be Cicero, lower his head like a little boy being told off by his father and walk quickly over to my stylist. Ambrosius is wearing a black and white striped suit which hurts my eyes as I look at it when he walks over to us. He stops a short distance away and I jump upright as he does, realising as my stylist approaches that I'd subconsciously leaned back against Cato. If Ambrosius notices then he chooses not to comment.

"This way then. We have a lot of work to do."

I try to resign myself to my fate as Ambrosius leads me down the corridor to my set of rooms and the prep team follow excitedly behind, continually telling myself to stop being so pathetic, but I simply can't do it. I can't fight back the terror and revulsion I feel at the prospect of going through a repeat of my day at the Remake Centre all over again.

"I can give you some medicine to calm you down and make it easier," says Ambrosius quietly so the prep team can't hear.

He sounds like he's genuinely trying to help me, which not only surprises me greatly but makes me feel very slightly guilty for my response. However, my feelings of guilt are not nearly strong enough to compete with my long established phobias so I scowl at him anyway. Besides, I'm Clove Jacia and I don't need anyone's help. I might not always look it but I'm strong and I can do anything. Even this.

"And have myself wake up with hair the colour of his?" I reply while looking at the pink-haired man called Cicero. "I don't think so. At least when I'm awake I have some level of control over what's happening to me."

"I know what you think of us, but try to remember who you are and where you are. You have no choice about this."

"Don't I know it," I hiss through gritted teeth as I once more have to step violently away from the prep team's clumsy attempts to undress me. I glare at them and snarl in warning until they back away, but then I reach up to push the thin straps of my nightdress off my shoulders so it falls to the floor. "Get it over with then."

* * *

Several torturous hours later, I find myself standing in front of Ambrosius as he lowers another metallic silver dress over my head. This one is lighter in colour than the first one, and I'm relieved to notice that it seems to be made of considerably more fabric. As it drops down over my body, I adjust it myself and Ambrosius lets me, looking anxiously over at the white-haired woman from the prep team as she bathes the side of her face in some kind of liquid taken from a bottle that claims it removes bruising and redness. She learned the hard way that despite enduring a whole day of their ministrations, I haven't learned to tolerate them and still react to them in exactly the same way as I did before. I don't feel even the tiniest bit sorry for her.

The skirt of the dress reaches almost to the floor at the front and flows in huge waves of material to trail along the ground behind me at the back. I walk over to the mirror, running my hands over the zigzagged stitching pattern on the bodice, and when I see my reflection, I breathe a sigh of relief. The dress is as elaborate and over-the-top as only something made in the Capitol can be, but when combined with my heavy, dramatic make-up and naturally pale, almost white skin, I think I can safely say that the last thing people will think of when they see me is a fairytale princess.

I look cold and deadly, exactly as I should.

I turn to look at Ambrosius, who is scrutinising me with a smug expression on his face. "At least I can walk in this one."

"What did I tell you this morning about remembering where you are?" he replies, but the tone of his voice is softer than it was when he said it the first time. He seems almost as relieved it's all over as I am.

I'm about to ask him if it's time for us to leave when he walks over to me and reaches for the chain of my district token. I smack his hand away instinctively, causing him to shake his head disapprovingly as he takes a step back, still holding out his hand expectantly. I shake my head in return. I'm attached to my district token and haven't taken it off since the day I was given it when I arrived at the Training Centre over five years ago.

Ambrosius doesn't lower his hand so I decide to try a different tactic. "But it goes with the dress. They're both silver."

"The review board need to see it. You'll get it back tomorrow."

I reluctantly reach up and lift the necklace over my head, feeling strangely naked without it as I pass it to my stylist, when the door opens and Vikus walks in without knocking as usual. He stares at me for several minutes, saying nothing and making me feel distinctly uncomfortable, but it's Ambrosius whom he addresses with a single word.

"Better."

Ambrosius says nothing, turning away to walk towards the door, and I smile, remembering the fierce argument he got into with my mentor over the last dress at the Opening Ceremony. I sense that Vikus is about to make an issue of the other man's refusal to talk to him, but he doesn't get the chance as the door is thrown open once again and Cato's stylist bounds in, dressed as garishly as ever.

"Oh, Ambrosius! She looks amazing! Anyone would think you'd been styling District 2 for decades!"

'Female tribute, District 2'. That's all I am to her, and in fact all I am to all of the people in this room and virtually all of the other people who are about to watch my interview. I've always known it, but hearing her talk about me like I'm not there makes it seem that little bit more real, and I'm surprised by just how angry it makes me feel. I wish it was the people like her I had to face in the arena tomorrow. I have more reason to hate them than I ever will to hate my fellow tributes.

"Hurry up! Hurry up! You must go now!" calls Selene from the corridor, clearly giving her usual performance by flapping at everybody and actually making them later than they would have been if she hadn't been there.

Deciding I can't take any more, I push past the prep team and Cato's incredibly offended looking stylist, pulling the door open with such force that it flies back and bangs against the wall, allowing me to escape into the corridor.

"You look…intimidating," calls Cato from his position leaning casually against the wall at the far end of the corridor.

I walk slowly towards him, forcing my face to remain fixed in the expressionless mask that the other tributes will see in the arena tomorrow despite the expression on his face as his eyes follow me, which greatly resembles the way that most of the other male tributes seem to look at Glimmer.

"Are you scared, District 2?" I ask coldly.

He waits until I'm virtually standing in front of him before responding, pushing himself off the wall so he towers over me as his expression suddenly becomes as closed as mine. "Scared? Of you? I don't fear anybody," he replies, using the same aggressive tone I've heard so many times before but is never usually directed at me.

Our performance lasts only until we look into each other's eyes, and then a split second later we simultaneously start to laugh. We only abruptly remember where we are when we hear Vikus shout from the other room for everyone to stop messing about and get downstairs before the interviews are over. It seems that his mood hasn't improved very much since yesterday and for the millionth time I wish I knew why.

"Just be yourselves," he says to us as he strides down the corridor with Selene and the style team trailing along behind.

"How difficult can it be?" I reply, my face devoid of all emotion once again.

Cato brushes his hand against the bare skin of my back in that almost possessive way he has, but when I shiver and turn around to glare at him for distracting me, he's got his arena face on and doesn't say a word. I shake my head and refocus. What choice do I have?

* * *

We take the lift to the ground floor of the Training Centre and walk through the huge doors into the City Circle, where the stage has been constructed outside as it is every year. There are people everywhere and every seat around the stage seems to have a very wealthy looking citizen of the Capitol already sitting on it. There are others standing in every available space, all straining both to catch a glimpse of us and, in most cases, attempt to get their own faces on the television.

Not for the first time, I wonder what they're thinking. What do they see when they look at us? Do they see us as anything more than sources of entertainment and the chance to make a bit of extra money by picking out the one who won't die? I somehow doubt it.

"District 2! District 2, stand over here," instructs a very stressed looking Capitol minion, separating us from Vikus and the stylists and ushering us over to wait close to the steps that lead onto the stage.

"Why can't they just get on with it?" says Cato after only a few seconds of waiting, his irritation more than obvious as we stand together surveying the chaos around us.

"You know the Capitol does everything in its own time," I answer distractedly as I look around to see how many of the other tributes have arrived.

The costumes seem to be slightly toned down compared to the Opening Ceremony, which makes it a lot easier to recognise the faces of the mostly terrified-looking tributes who wait in line for the procession onto the stage to begin. My eyes meet Varia's for a second and she nods slightly. I return her gesture and then look away immediately. I still despise her.

Three days of training have shown me she's a good fighter who deserves her place in our short-term alliance, but that doesn't mean I have to like her. What she lacks in skill and training, she makes up for in blatant aggression, and what seems to be a genuine desire to cause as much suffering as she possibly can for no reason that I can see other than that it gives her pleasure and a feeling of power. Not that that will bother me. She wouldn't even dream of trying to turn that rage on me. After comparing our performances in the gymnasium, she'll surely realise the only possible outcome for her is certain death so she wouldn't have the courage to.

Turning my attention away from District 4, I look around to see that most of the tributes who stand out in my mind are nowhere to be seen. Districts 5 and 11 aren't here yet, neither are the now infamous District 12, and it suddenly occurs to me that our other allies are yet to take their places at the front of the tribute line. I glare at the girl from 3, but as I smile when she shrinks away in fear, I realise that although the audience, who won't be able to see us until we climb the steps onto the stage, are still as raucous as ever, the people waiting with me behind the stage have suddenly stopped talking.

I see why when Glimmer walks towards me wearing an almost sheer golden dress that leaves virtually nothing to the imagination. I'd known from the second I saw her what angle they would use for her interview, but it still shocks me slightly to see such a dignified and proud woman, a woman who I've begrudgingly come to respect over the past few days even as we trade insults, be reduced to this.

In the harsh world of the District 2 Training Centre, my ability to detect what people are thinking through careful observation is a skill that's got me out of many difficult and dangerous situations, and I've come to rely on it almost as much as I rely on my ability to fight. I very rarely judge wrongly, and as Glimmer walks past me I can tell immediately that her self control is hanging on by a thread despite how well she hides her emotions.

"Don't say anything, Clove. Just this once," she hisses in a low voice as she passes me so nobody else can hear, confirming my suspicions with those few small words.

The part of me which knows she is my enemy screams that this is an ideal opportunity to make her feel even worse in the hope she'll perform badly in her interview and lose a few sponsors. The rest of me says that while she will still be my enemy tomorrow, tonight she is just another victim of the Capitol's depravity, a victim who is dealing with the situation considerably better than I would be if our positions were reversed. I know that if it was me in that almost-dress then Ambrosius would have had to put me in a straitjacket, sedate me to the point of unconsciousness and then carry me onto the stage himself before I allowed myself to appear on national television like that, Hunger Games or no Hunger Games. As I turn to look at Cato I realise my stylist would probably also have had to do the same to him, which makes me give in to my sudden urge to take a step back towards him, knowing that nobody will notice.

"Three, two, one…go!"

I hear the signal for the camera people to start filming and then Glimmer is instructed to begin the procession onto the stage. I follow behind Marvel, focussing ahead of him to the top of Glimmer's golden head to make sure I walk with my head held high. I take my position in the semi-circle of tributes that surround the two throne-like chairs in the centre of the stage, scanning the raised area to see the tributes who were late arriving so I don't have to look at the audience.

Thresh and Rue are more mismatched than ever, as their style team seem to have gone out of their way to accentuate their obvious unavoidable differences, and Lysandra wears a vivid blue dress that makes her look her age for once rather than several years younger. She manages to look almost bored by the whole situation and not for the first time, I find myself wishing I knew what's going through her mind. The next tribute to hold my attention is the boy from District 10, who was still walking with a crutch, this time one that actually matches his suit, and then when I reach the end of the line my eyes rest upon the hated figure of Katniss Everdeen. I glare intently at her, pointlessly hoping that if I do so for long enough then I'll be able to see inside her head to find out what she's hiding and what she did to get herself that training score.

I only look away from her when Caesar Flickerman, the famous host of the Hunger Games interviews, practically leaps onto the stage and welcomes everyone to what he assures the audience and the people watching at home will be the most exciting programme he has ever presented. His face, made pure white with make-up, and the sparkling blue suit he wears are the same as they are every year, remaining unchanged as they always have for at least as long as I've been alive, but this year his hair, eyelids and lips are a strange pale blue.

He changes this aspect of his appearance to a different colour every year and according to Cato, his stylist told him that bets are always placed in the Capitol as people attempt to guess what colour he will be. Last year he was a bright blood red, which while looking slightly disturbing, seemed somehow appropriate to me. I think that he should have stuck with that.

The crowd cheer wildly when Caesar finally calls Glimmer to the centre of the stage, and to her credit, the standard of her performance doesn't slip for her entire interview. If she's hating every second like I'm virtually positive she is, then I would never know it just from looking at her now, and I'm quite convinced that everybody in the crowd thinks she's as happy to be sitting in front of them as they are to be watching her. She answers every one of Caesar's questions in her clear, naturally seductive voice and the audience continue to cheer for her long after she has returned to her seat.

I watch enough of Marvel's interview to see he's most definitely being his natural, supremely arrogant self, before I block out the noise and think about my own three minutes in front of the cameras. I've never really thought about my interview very much. I've never seen it as being as important a part of the Games as a lot of people claim. I'd just always assumed I would give a standard, brutal, 'District 2' performance and that would be it, that I would rely on my ability to win control of the supplies in the arena so I wouldn't be dependent upon sponsors if they didn't appear.

But now everything's different. Now I actually need to win the support of the Capitol audience more than I ever did before, and I feel my heart rate increase because I'm next on stage. It's ironic that the reason the interview has suddenly become so vital is the one thing I mustn't allow myself to think about. Or should I say 'one person'.

I want nothing more than to turn to my left slightly so I can see Cato, but I know I can't. I haven't once looked at him since we got on the stage because I know that if I do then I'll be sure to falter in my interview. I know that if I do then there's every chance the pathetic Capitol people who are paid extortionately high amounts of money to analyse our every move for their stupid television shows will notice the way that all of the aggression and hate vanishes from my eyes when I look at him.

So I try to push all thoughts of Cato and everything that's happened over the past week to the back of my mind, trying to pretend for a short time that this isn't the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games but the Seventy-fifth, and that everything is going according to plan. I imagine all of the would-be-tributes gathered around the huge television screen in the dining hall of our Training Centre, and realise I have to hold it together for them.

I think of Iris, the young girl whose training I'd taken an interest in because she reminded me so much of myself when I was her age. I know that if things had worked out differently then I would have mentored her and made her the victor of the Eightieth Games, just to prove I'm not an anomaly and that the Games aren't won on brute strength alone. I want her to see the Clove she recognises and looks up to, so that is who she'll see.

Vikus told me to be myself but I can't do that. What I can be is what Vikus thinks I am, which seems a whole lot more appropriate given the situation.

"Clove Jacia!" calls the announcer, jolting me back to reality as I realise Marvel has returned to his seat and the whole of Panem is waiting for me to take centre stage.

I rise to my feet and walk slowly but purposefully towards Caesar, shaking the famous presenter's proffered hand but not returning his smile.

"So, Clove," he starts when we've sat down. "That's an impressive outfit. You look beautiful, in a very terrifying way, of course."

"It's appropriate then," I reply, being careful to keep my responses short and clipped and to erase all emotion from my face and voice.

"Should your fellow tributes be terrified of you?"

"I think most of them already are, and not without reason."

There's a sudden hush across the whole of the City Circle as every single person seems to stop breathing. Good. It's working. I've got them all exactly where I want them.

"So you're confident you can win?"

"Of course. I know I can. The others don't stand a chance against me."

Well I didn't exactly lie. If I were able to put my emotions aside in a way I could never do in reality, I'm actually confident I could defeat every tribute on this stage, even Cato. After all, I've done it before, virtually as many times as he's defeated me.

"Are you telling me you don't fear any of your fellow tributes? Not even a little bit?" he adds with a smile.

"I've never feared anyone. You'll all see why tomorrow," I reply, still refusing to smile.

I glance up at the giant television screen above the stage and instantly regret it. The main camera is watching Cato not me, and he's smirking at my comment, smirking the same smirk I've seen countless times when we've played at games like this back home. I'm sure the audience will take his smirk as an expression of disbelief from a stronger tribute who thinks he can best me easily, but I know he's really just amused by the truth of what I said. I wonder if he's thinking of all the pretend arguments we've had in the past, if he's remembering the faces of those watching as they tried to decide if they wanted to see us fight or if they were too scared to.

"Fighting talk from the beautiful half of District 2 this year," says Caesar to the audience. "Nothing unusual there, is there?"

They all cheer in response and he struggles to make his next words heard over their noise.

"And a ten in training as well. That's an impressive score, Clove, so impressive that only one tribute scored higher."

"Ten, eleven or one, it means nothing to me. They'll all die in the arena just the same."

Even as I hear myself speak I feel all of the suppressed emotion inside me rising up again when I realise what I just said, suddenly feeling grateful that Thresh also scored a ten so I can think about him as a way of keeping the nightmares I have of being somehow forced to kill Cato firmly at bay. It looks like Caesar isn't going to help me with that though.

"Tell us, Clove, do you have any brave admirers waiting in District 2 for you to come home? I'm sure a pretty girl like you must have someone."

I look straight into his eyes and shake my head. "There's nobody in District 2 waiting for me."

This is getting ridiculous. I'm slowly becoming convinced that the camera people are conspiring against me, because when I glance up at the big screen again, I once more find myself looking into Cato's dark blue eyes. They seem to reflect the pain I feel inside as Caesar brings up such a difficult subject.

"If you win then I'm sure they'll be queuing up when you return."

"They'll be wasting their time. Once I win the Games, there won't be anybody left in the world who I need or want," I reply, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself and maintain the performance.

It must be three minutes by now. If Caesar has to keep talking to me then can't he hurry up and change the subject. This was so much easier when I was talking about killing the other tributes, and anyway, that's what we should be talking about. That's the point of the Hunger Games, isn't it? That's what I'm here for.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, the buzzer sounds and Caesar wishes me luck before allowing me to leave the throne-like chair in the middle of the stage. I stand up and then walk slowly back to my chair in the tribute circle, keeping my back straight and my head held high, refusing to look at the audience even though they're shouting my name and cheering as loudly as they did for Glimmer.

Cato's called next, and he plays the part of the ruthless killer to perfection as I always knew he would. It's difficult for me to see him that way when I know him better than anybody, but when I see the expressions on the faces of the other tributes, I can tell what they're thinking from the fear that shows so blatantly in their eyes.

The Capitol audience have always loved District 2, and it seems we've done our jobs well and that this year will be no different. When Cato leaves the centre of the stage, still full of the confidence and aggression he showed throughout his interview, the audience cheer for him as loudly as they did for me. It's only when I hear some of them shouting for 'Cato and Clove', calling our names together like it's a possibility that we'll both be allowed to live, that I force myself to block the noise out, not allowing myself to give in and think about what will most likely never be.

The other interviews seem to pass by in a blur, all blending into each other. The majority of the tributes struggle to form coherent sentences due to their mind numbing terror, though whether that terror is caused by the interview itself, the prospect of tomorrow, or a combination of both, I couldn't possibly say.

Varia and Arturo seem to try to emulate us, but it soon becomes apparent they're merely pale imitations. They say the right words and have the right body language but there is just something missing. Maybe they simply don't want it badly enough. Maybe, unlike us, they don't need to.

Lysandra is quiet, but not lacking confidence, slyly deflecting most of Caesar's questions so she doesn't really reveal anything at all about herself. Just like I did, I think, although in a very different way.

Once the flame-haired girl from the laboratory district has left the stage and been replaced by her weak and insipid looking district partner, I quickly lose interest and let my mind wander. I don't need to watch their interviews. I've been watching them in training for days and I think that gives me a much truer representation of their characters than a fake and contrived interview ever could.

It's not until Katniss is announced that I pay attention to the events on stage again, watching closely as the girl takes her position opposite Caesar, searching desperately for a clue that might tell me how she got her ridiculously high training score. I'm both disappointed and exasperated when I see nothing but a weak and feeble girl, a girl who gives every impression that she shouldn't have scored more than a three.

Seeing her as she spins around in her dress of flames and makes herself so dizzy she has to cling to Caesar for support makes me begin to doubt the sanity of the District 12 team. What's the point of having her present herself in such a way when her training score will automatically make proper tributes like me think of her as both a threat and a target? Unless this wasn't in the script. Maybe now she isn't following another's instructions and this has been the real Katniss all along. I really hope so, because the girl I see before me looks like she'd struggle to find the strength or determination to finish off even the tiny girl from District 11.

When she leaves the stage to a chorus of applause from the Capitol audience, who, for some unknown reason, seem to still love their Girl On Fire, and is replaced by her district partner, I suddenly realise this is the last interview. In three short minutes all the preparation will be over and the Games will begin for real. I don't know if I want to turn back the clock or if I just want to get it over with because I'm sick to death of delaying the inevitable.

Peeta looks strong considering where he comes from, and with his bright blue eyes, blond hair and warm manner, I can see that, for some unknown reason that obviously must relate to the insanity of Capitol citizens, he isn't escaping the notice of many of the young girls in the audience. I have to force myself not to laugh when I see him, talking casually to Caesar as if they've been friends for years, not because of him exactly but because of the memory that seeing him makes me recall.

It's a well known fact that the escorts like nothing better than to gossip about the tributes and the mentors, and when Selene had been talking to us about our interviews she had mentioned this boy, actually going as far as to suggest that Cato should try to show some of his openness and humility. Even now, I can still remember the expression that appeared on my lover's face as a result of her suggestion, and if looks could kill then our chaperone would be long dead.

I watch as the final interview proceeds much like the previous twenty-three, and just as I'm sure it must be time for the buzzer to sound, Caesar begins to question Peeta about whether or not he has someone waiting for him back home. It sounds like my interview all over again, apart from the obvious difference that the presenter receives considerably more cordial responses to his questions from the boy from the coal district than he did from me.

Initially Peeta has me thinking that all the girls in District 12 must think like me, for he tells Caesar he doesn't think the girl he's interested in would return his affections and that not even winning the Games would help him. However a mere couple of seconds later, by uttering five simple words to a silent and captivated Capitol audience in an attempt to explain why, the boy from District 12 hammers the final nail firmly into my coffin without even knowing he's doing it and in a way I could never have predicted.

"She came here with me," he says, his voice little more than a whisper.

He didn't need to speak any louder. I'm sure that the whole of Panem heard, especially if the total quiet in the City Circle is anything to go by. After studying him closely and glancing over at Katniss to see her reaction, I'm not entirely convinced their story is genuine, but whether it is or it isn't is irrelevant. Either way, any chance Cato and I had of revealing our relationship to the Capitol in the arena and using it to buy our lives has now vanished without a trace. Whatever we do, there's no escaping the fact that if we drop the performance of keeping our distance from each other in public, the Capitol and everyone else watching the Games will think that the way we were was the reality and the true reality is the act, put on in an attempt to draw attention away from District 12.

The silence breaks as the crowd get over the initial shock of Peeta's announcement, and when my concentration is broken by the noise, I suddenly notice I've moved to the edge of my seat without even realising I've done it. I remain there while Caesar concludes the programme, shaking with rage and poised as if preparing to leap from my seat and kill the boy who has most likely killed me with his words. I might be unarmed but he'd still be dead before he even knew what had happened. He wouldn't have chance to fight back. I know because I've done it once before back home, and the way I feel right now, I could easily do it again.

The sensible part of me tries to regain control, telling the rest of me that I'll have my chance to put an end to District 12 in the morning, right after I make them wish they'd never gone along with the stupid plan that can only have been concocted by their support team, but for some reason the sensible part of me is losing. For some reason it abruptly doesn't matter that I'd most likely die at the hands of the Capitol for my crime before the boy's body even hit the stage, and a second later I make my decision, putting a hand on either side of my chair in readiness to propel myself forwards.

However as soon as I move, my left wrist is twisted painfully as I'm violently yanked back into my seat with such force I'm surprised I don't go flying into the red velvet curtain that hangs at the back of the stage.

"Do you think so little of me that you're willing to make me watch the Capitol soldiers cover this stage with your blood? Save your anger for tomorrow!"

Despite the force behind his words, Cato spoke so quietly that I doubt very much anyone but me could have heard him even had they been listening, which I'm sure nobody was. Everyone is still focussed on District 12, the deafening noise of many separate conversations happening all at once suddenly filling the City Circle.

As I surreptitiously rub my wrist with my right hand to ease the pain, my violent anger fades into the background as I think about Cato's words, and I'm able to control my emotions and maintain my blank expression as we're all directed off the stage. Cato clearly remains unconvinced, as he walks so closely behind me that we're almost tripping over each other as we descend the steps. He doesn't move away even when we get into a lift and the doors close.

"What are you playing at?" he snaps, backing me rapidly against the wall of the lift.

"That boy destroyed our last chance! There's nothing left!" I shout back, my all-consuming mixture of rage and grief returning in full force now the cameras have stopped rolling.

I raise my hands and bring them down onto his chest as hard as I can, trying to make him step away as I search for an outlet for my anger, remaining as unwilling as ever to take it out on him. Predictably, he doesn't move a millimetre as I stand there, breathing as hard as if I'd fought ten bouts in the ring until my fury eventually fades.

"I was sort of hoping you'd want to kill him too," I continue eventually, my voice a fraction of the volume it was.

His anger visibly reduces but he doesn't step away and the intensity of his expression doesn't change, even when the lift bell rings and the doors slide open. "I do. How can you doubt that? I've always said District 12 will pay, but on the stage during the interviews? You know as well as I do how the Capitol would react."

"Well I wasn't exactly thinking rationally at the time."

"Obviously," he says, his familiar smirk returning to his face as he steps back and leaves the lift. I follow him, realising that as much as I wanted him to back off before, I miss his presence now he's left. "And to think they say back home that you're the cold and emotionless one…" he calls back to me.

"He would have deserved his fate if I had killed him," I say as I catch up with him, looking down at the floor and pretending to sulk.

"Yes, but he'll still deserve it tomorrow. Tomorrow the Capitol will cheer when his cannon sounds instead of sounding yours immediately after."

We walk down the corridor and through into the sitting room for the last time, and despite knowing I would never be so lucky, I hope desperately that my so called 'support team' are anywhere but here. Unsurprisingly it is not to be though, as Vikus looks up from the television screen to stare at us as soon as we set foot in the room.

"Sit down, both of you."

I take a closer look at the screen and see my own face looking back at me. They must be replaying the interviews already.

"That was a nice touch to say you'd never want anybody if you won the Games, Clove. Very subtle," says Vikus mockingly.

Cato sits down on one of the armchairs but I remain standing, glaring at my mentor as he stares at me, grinning with amusement at his words and the pain he knew they would cause me. I'd been about to sit down on the chair next to Cato's, but I suddenly change my mind and drop down into the same chair so my right arm and leg are pressed tightly against him and the silver material of my skirt billows out to cover us both. I'm tired of being subtle. What's the point?

If Cato is surprised by my actions then it doesn't show. He merely lifts his arm up behind me to rest on the back of the chair and stares coldly at our mentor.

"What do you want, Vikus? I think we've said all there is to say."

"When we were on the tribute train I asked the pair of you if you were going let me down. You swore you wouldn't but I'm not convinced. Do you want to bring shame upon your district? Upon everyone at the Training Centre? You need to get a grip on your emotions and do what you were trained to do."

"I've told you more than once before that you'll have your victor," I say coldly. "The rest is not your business."

"Very well. As long as one of you lives, it matters little to me," he replies dismissively.

I know what's coming next even before he takes a deep breath and continues, speaking words I've heard spoken in hushed whispers around the Training Centre many times but never actually from him. Words I remember my father saying to me as a child, words that his own mentor had said to him in accordance with the tradition of our home district. The same words that every District 2 tribute for over sixty years has heard on the night before they enter the arena.

"Show no emotion unless it is to intimidate and induce fear in the others. If you get hurt then let nobody see your pain. Do not give in to weakness and allow yourself to give the gift of mercy, and if you should die yourself then know you died a disgrace to your district because you weren't good enough to win."

The ritual words of the Training Centre send shivers down my spine and I suddenly feel freezing cold despite my closeness to Cato, who stares blankly ahead, his face a mask that does little to hide the hatred I know he feels towards Vikus. As soon as our mentor stops speaking, Cato rises to his feet and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him without saying a word or even looking in my direction.

"Trouble in paradise?" asks Vikus mockingly. "I can't imagine why."

"Goodbye Vikus," I reply flatly in return, refusing to lose my temper because that's exactly what he wants.

"Goodbye? That's interesting, Clove. Are you admitting you don't think you'll be the one who returns from the arena?"

"You'll never hold any power over me again and you know it. Not that it matters anyway. If I do return then it won't be as the person you see now. The woman you know as Clove Jacia will die in that arena, one way or another." I keep my voice cold, even though I'm shaking as the truth of my words hits me.

I never thought it would happen but my mentor seems genuinely unable to think of something to say in response to that, and so my last glimpse of him as I turn and leave the room is of him sitting there, staring uncomprehendingly after me.

* * *

I walk quickly down the corridor but hesitate as I get to the door of Cato's rooms. I've never seen him like that before. He always tells me I'm the only person who's never walked away from him, but it works the other way as well. He has never turned his back on me before, and I'm surprised by just how insecure and hurt it makes me feel now he finally has.

I take a deep breath and open the door, walking into complete darkness. When I switch one of the lights on, it fills the room with a dim light that's just strong enough for me to see him sitting in an armchair, gazing out of the window at the bright lights of the Capitol below. He says nothing, but it isn't our usual comfortable silence. It's the kind of silence that makes me want to say something merely to break it, but I simply can't find the words.

"Maybe you're right, Clove. Maybe you've been right all along," he says eventually, looking totally defeated for the first time in my memory.

"What do you mean?" I ask, although considering we're going into the arena in a few short hours, I suspect I already know the answer to my own question.

"They'll never let us both live so I should have let you walk away. I've made it harder for you and I didn't want that. You should go to your own room. I shouldn't be doing this to you."

I walk over to him and push myself onto his lap, something that's considerably more difficult to do than normal as while he doesn't push me away, he doesn't move to accommodate me either. Eventually though, his arms wrap around me instinctively and I look up at him, wishing I didn't ever have to see such pain in his eyes.

"You can do what you like to me, you always have before."

I'm surprised when he suddenly looks down at me and smiles, a genuine smile that tears me apart just as much as his sadness. It's only when I stop to think about how what I said must have sounded that I return his smile. Then I bury my face in the collar of his jacket so he can't see the embarrassment I really shouldn't still feel considering everything there is between us.

"If the other tributes could see you now," he teases. "All the effort you went to. All the intimidation. The knife throwing in training. The interview. All for nothing."

"But they can't see me, so it doesn't matter. People only ever see what I want them to see, you know that. And I want you to know that whatever happens, nobody else will ever see me like this."

He briefly touches his lips to the top of my head, becoming serious once more. "I meant it. You should go back to your room and wait for Ambrosius to take you to the hovercraft."

"No. I won't go. It's nowhere near dawn yet."

He sighs deeply as if he's reached a decision and then lifts me up, turning around to put me back on the chair before walking slowly to the door.

"Cato," I call after him. "Cato, don't leave. Please…"

I know I should be furious with myself for speaking like that. I don't plead with anyone in that way, not even him. I know I have to make myself find the strength to fight this, but when he keeps walking I want nothing more than to throw myself from the chair and chase after him. No torment the Capitol could inflict upon me in the arena could ever cause me more pain than this.

When he gets to the door he stops and turns back to face me. "Leave? I'm not going to leave you. Did you really think I'd walk away?"

"I-"

He pulls the bolt on the door and it creaks loudly in protest before eventually sliding across, then he crosses the room to stand in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders when I stand up. He looks down into my eyes with such fierce intensity that I couldn't look away even if I wanted to.

"You're mine, Clove. Not even the Capitol can change that."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

_I lie staring up at the stars, my head pillowed on Cato's arm, hearing nothing but the quiet rhythm of our breathing and the occasional call of a dog or a fox coming from the isolated wasteland below us. I don't speak and neither does he. We don't need to, at least not until reality catches up with us once more. I wish it never would. Even if that does make me a disgrace to the district. _

"_We shouldn't be here," I whisper eventually, as the stars begin to fade and the pale light of dawn gradually starts to lighten the sky. I don't really know whether I'm referring to this derelict warehouse we've secretly claimed as ours since we first found it when I was twelve and Cato thirteen, or just to the fact that we're outside of the Training Centre fence without permission._

"_Why did you follow me then?"_

"_Because I wanted to," I reply truthfully, smiling when he laughs softly. "But you heard what Vikus said about people leaving the Training Centre grounds at night without permission. He was looking straight at us."_

"_So? He'll have to catch us before he can do anything, and even if he does work it out, every man who saw us fight will swear blind that we weren't there. They'll probably be so terrified he'll tell the authorities at the Mountain Fortress that they'll swear the whole thing never happened."_

_I smile at the memory of earlier that night and Cato pulls me closer against him. It hadn't been the first time we'd fought the best District 2 could offer at the illegal prize fights organised by the most powerful figures in our district's criminal underworld. We mostly only do it for the money and the respect it brings us, knowing we'll need both if the plans we have for ourselves and for the Training Centre are ever going to be made reality, but I can't deny that tonight was different. The usual assembled crowd are equally as bloodthirsty as the Capitol and very rarely shocked by anything by the time they get to the stage of watching illegal fights held in disused store rooms, but they were definitely surprised by us when Cato and I had fought side by side for the first time._

The cheers of the crowd, a crowd which existed in a time that seems so long ago now, still echo in my head as I wake, feeling more than a little bit annoyed that the loud noise which pulled me from sleep should do so on one of the very rare occasions I was having a pleasant dream rather than a horrific nightmare. I immediately recognise the sound as someone banging on the door, but it's only when I hear the accompanying shout that I'm forced abruptly and painfully back to reality.

"Clove! It's time to go! I know you're there!"

Ambrosius. I recognise his voice instantly. The time has come. The arena is waiting.

"Ambrosius, that's the wrong room," says another high-pitched, grating Capitol voice, female this time and also from the other side of the door.

"Open your eyes, Marchesa. She hasn't slept in that room since she arrived here." I hear Cato's stylist gasp with feigned outrage at his revelation, but to his credit Ambrosius ignores her and continues. "You've got five minutes, Clove."

I listen to his retreating footsteps fade away before I force myself to open my eyes. I'm lying in the same position I fell asleep in, pushed as closely against Cato as I can physically get, as though I hope to disappear inside him so not even the might of the Capitol can pull us apart. His arms are so tight around me that I can't move.

"Cato," I say softly, forcing myself to try to sit up. "Cato, it's time. We have to go."

He looks down at me, meeting my eyes without releasing me even slightly, and we stay like that for several minutes. Then he turns towards the dawn light that escapes through the gap in the curtains. He quickly looks away, as if he wants to deny its existence for just a little longer.

I push his shoulder firmly. "Please, Cato. While I still have the willpower to make myself move. I won't be dragged kicking and screaming into the arena like the pathetic creatures we have to kill. And neither will you."

He nods once then lets me go. I miss his warmth before I've even moved, and I shiver as I push myself from the bed for the second time today. As soon as I stand up I almost fall back down again, my aching muscles temporarily refusing to cooperate, and just before I pull a tunic over my head, I look down at the various trails of bruises that mix with my old battle scars to form intricate patterns across my body.

"If I hurt you then I'm sorry," whispers Cato as he gives in to the inevitable and gets up as well, his eyes never leaving me for a second.

I throw another tunic to him and shake my head firmly. "You didn't. And even if you did, I don't care. Have I ever cared? Have I ever wanted it any other way?"

I don't ever want him to apologise to me. Not for that. Besides, the scratches I left on his back and shoulders were deep enough to draw blood so I can hardly plead innocence.

"One of the few things you've never made me apologise for," he says almost playfully, and as I roll my eyes at him, I wonder how he can still tease me at a time like this.

I stretch my arms above my head and then walk slowly to the door, secretly hoping the bruises never fade, hoping they remain as vivid as they are now so that when I'm trapped in the dreamlike world of the arena, where nothing is ever what it seems, I will have something tangible to remind me of what is real. Seconds later Cato steps forward to stand by my side and we both face the door without moving to unbolt it.

"I refuse to say goodbye."

"You don't have to. Not yet. Just remember the plan at the Cornucopia. Promise me you won't just charge in without thinking."

"I said I wouldn't," he says, sighing and turning to face me when he senses I'm not entirely convinced and am about to speak again. "I promise, Clove," he continues, reaching out to trail the back of his hand lightly down the side of my face and across my throat, a subtle gesture of control that nobody else would get close to making.

"That's it then," I reply, forcing myself to turn away from him as I raise my hand to unbolt the door and then slowly turn the handle.

Cato pulls me back, lifting me high off the ground so we are for once the same height as he kisses me for what we both know could be the last time. Virtually any other goodbye kiss would be gentle and tender, I know that. The kind of kiss I imagine the Girl On Fire sharing with her foolish district partner. But we're not them, and Cato kisses me like he always has, like his life and sanity depends on it.

"No, that's it," he says as he reluctantly sets me back on my feet, trying to smirk down at me like he normally does. The expression doesn't reach his eyes, which are so full of grief that I can hardly bear to look and have to turn away.

When we leave the room, he goes first with me following closely behind, gripping a fistful of the material of his tunic because I'll never admit it but I can't bear to let go.

* * *

It's only two hours later that I find myself in the enclosed underground space of the Launch Room, the place where the tributes are taken to spend their final hours before the Games begin. Ambrosius is the only other person here, but we've barely spoken two words to each other since he held the door leading out of our floor of the Training Centre open for me and we went to the roof to meet the waiting hovercraft.

I remember how he looked away from me, refusing to meet my eyes as I walked slowly and unwaveringly away from Cato and towards him, biting my lip so the anguish I felt inside didn't show on my face. There was no way I was going to let anybody from the Capitol see the pain I felt, and though I still feel that pain just as strongly now, I remain equally as determined not to let my stylist see it.

Cold and totally emotionless. Those are the only words I can think of to describe my appearance and the expression on my face as I stare at my reflection in the gold framed and artificially illuminated mirror that hangs on the wall of the dressing room. I look like a part of me has died already. Maybe it has.

I smooth the already wrinkle-free fabric of my light green blouse, a dreadful colour that only accentuates my pallor, and pull the collar closed a bit more, fastening the top button so the bruises that cover my collarbone don't show. I can't work out much about the arena from my clothes, which consist of a simple shirt and trousers with a thick brown belt, but if the jacket is anything to go by then I can say that it definitely won't be hot in there. I shake my head quickly so my dark hair falls forward to frame my ghostly-pale face, and then with one final glance in the mirror, I turn and go back through into the main room.

It's cold and dark in the underground Launch Room, so it takes me a while to focus on the figure of my stylist, who for once is dressed in dark, sombre colours which I sincerely hope aren't meant to be symbolic. He seems to be staring absorbedly at something, so much so that he doesn't notice my presence, and when I realise what it is, I have to struggle fiercely to subdue the almost irrepressible urge I feel to run over and snatch it away from him.

"That's mine. I want it back," I say frostily, my eyes focussed intently on the dull silver of my district token.

He looks up like he didn't even hear me speak. "What does it mean? Why do you have the number 1527 engraved before your name?"

I'm surprised he needs to ask until I remember that before this year my stylist had always dressed District 5. He's probably never seen a District 2 token before.

"As you're a Capitolian citizen, I think you should reconsider your question. Denial is a lot harder when you decide to seek the truth rather than remain largely ignorant."

"You are 1527 and your lover is 1501," he says, again pretending I hadn't spoken. When he continues, it's more in response to the expression on my face than anything else. "Yes, don't look so shocked that I know. You're a good actress, Clove, but you're not that good. Tell me what the numbers mean."

"Every child who has trained for the Games in District 2 for the last sixty-one years has been given a number. Cato was the 1501st to join our Training Centre and I was the 1527th. That's why I can fight, that's why I have so many scars. Surely you already know this, even if you can't acknowledge it?"

"Yes, I know about the Career Districts, who in Panem doesn't? But I had no idea that everything was so well organised, so…brutally well-planned."

"Only in District 2," I reply, unable to keep the pride I still feel when I think about the only home I've ever known from showing in my voice. "It's the reason we're so strong, why we have so many victors."

A couple of seconds later I jump as a Capitol-accented female voice announces that it's time to prepare for launch, then I seize my district token from Ambrosius and put it in its rightful place around my neck, ignoring his sigh of disgust at my bad manners. He's about to say something but I turn my back on him, walking quickly over to the metal platform that will soon rise up to transport me into the arena.

I step onto it and turn to face my stylist, wishing he didn't have to be the last person I see before the Games begin for real. Not that I know who I'd rather see instead. The only person I truly want to see is standing trapped on another metal podium somewhere not so very far from here, waiting to share my fate.

As the glass cylinder begins to rise up, cutting me off from Ambrosius and the Launch Room, I force myself to stand up straight and hold my head high, knowing that in less than a minute Cato and I will see each other once more. I want him to see the girl he loves, the fearless Clove he's always known, and I want it so much that what I feel inside suddenly doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is being strong for him. I have to keep my focus and get the battle at the Cornucopia out of the way before I think of anything else.

It only takes a very short time for the metal platform to rise up and transport me away from the damp, dark Launch Room into the blindingly bright sun of the arena. A light breeze ruffles my hair as I struggle to focus my eyes, but when I'm finally able to see, I take in nothing of my surroundings until I've scanned the circle of tributes to find Cato.

I see him almost instantly, my eyes as automatically drawn to him as ever. He's looking straight at me from the other side of the Cornucopia, standing almost opposite me on his metal plate. He stares unblinkingly at me, his gaze never wavering for a second, not even when Claudius Templesmith's almost deafeningly loud voice fills the open stretch of ground that surrounds the golden Cornucopia.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

Only when I hear the announcement do I finally force myself to look away from Cato, knowing I have sixty seconds until the gong sounds. Sixty seconds until the chaos and carnage known across the whole of Panem as the bloodbath begins. I look to either side of me and see a feeble-looking girl on my left and Peeta on my right.

The girl, who I think is from District 6, is leaning so far to her left in a very obvious attempt to put as much distance between us as she possibly can that I almost expect her to be blown to pieces by the landmines that surround the podiums when she loses her balance and falls to the floor. Peeta seems to only have eyes for Katniss, so it appears their little performance is going to continue in here as well. I hope they form an alliance. If they do that then we'll be able to kill them at the same time and won't have to track them down individually.

The arena itself could have been worse. It looks surprisingly harmless, but then they always do. It usually isn't until it is too late that the Gamemaker-made dangers reveal themselves, all to make it more exciting for the viewers back in the Capitol of course.

There's a lake behind me and what looks like a cliff edge to my right. To my left and opposite me, behind Cato, all I can see is forest, which seems to be sparse around this clearing and get denser and denser the further back I look. The Cornucopia itself is overflowing with supplies, supplies that it's vital we gain control of as quickly as possible, before the other tributes can escape with something that will help them to stay alive in what looks to be a desolate wilderness.

Every year there are a number of tributes who are stupid enough to think they can take on who they call 'The Careers', the traditional alliance of Districts 1, 2 and 4, on the first day of the Games, and every year there is always a certain number of those tributes who manage to leave the Cornucopia with a weapon or some food. It's often that bit of help that allows them to live for a little bit longer, that gives them some form of hope that keeps them going.

I've seen it happen before in past Games, with tributes leaving the Cornucopia to the Careers only to come back stronger later on when the alliance has started to fragment and break down, when they're not at such a disadvantage. All too often the downfall of the trained tributes can be traced back to disorganisation during the battle for the Cornucopia, but this year I'm determined that won't happen.

I look ahead of me again, catching Cato's attention immediately, then I nod in his direction and look down at myself before turning to face the entrance of the Cornucopia. I sigh inwardly when his expression remains blank and uncomprehending. I know it was always whispered amongst the overawed youngsters back home who had seen us fight together as a team that Cato and I can read each other's minds, and it's at times like this that I wish their rumour wasn't just an impossible exaggeration of mutual long-term familiarity and hyperawareness.

I scan the plain around the tribute circle again before deciding that there's no other way of doing this. I turn back to Cato and glare at him in frustration. He just shrugs his shoulders at me and nods at the Cornucopia. I gesture from me to him and then back to the golden horn, inwardly crying with relief when he smiles almost imperceptibly and nods back in understanding. He turns to look in the direction of the woods before returning his focus to the tributes again. It's obvious to me what he means. Those who are going to run will run for the woods, and it will have to be down to the rest of our allies to stop them. I look at Glimmer, who stands two tributes to the left of Cato, unmoving and completely focussed. If I have to rely on any of the others then I choose her. When I look back at Cato, he nods in agreement.

I have enough time to scan the supplies and weaponry around the Cornucopia, feeling my heart lift slightly when I see a set of knives on the floor just by the entrance, before the gong loudly rings and the bloodbath begins.

I see a flash of bright red hair as Lysandra leaves the podium on the other side of Peeta like a bullet from a gun, heading straight across the face of the golden horn towards the woods, and I feel a certain smugness as I realise I was right. The girl from District 5 is brave enough to take a risk and she definitely hasn't given up yet. I lash out at the girl from District 6 who still stands paralysed with fear on her podium, not even looking to see her fall to the ground as my forearm connects with her throat and knocks the breath out of her before I charge after Lysandra, so desperate to claim the knives that the Gamemakers must have put there for me that I don't spare the time to kill her.

I soon realise that it makes no difference how many times I've watched replays of the Games on the television or how many times I've fought in the Arena back home. Nothing could have prepared me for the chaos that surrounds me as I sprint towards the Cornucopia. All around are the screams of the terrified and dying tributes. Everywhere I look there are people fighting or, more often, people simply trying to regain control of their shell-shocked bodies for long enough to attempt to escape the carnage with their lives.

I reach down and grab the knives, choosing to temporarily ignore the flame-haired girl who has almost reached the relative safety of the woods in favour of an easier target. An easier target. That's how I must see the others, that's the only way I can do this. By choosing not to think about the fact that whichever person I throw the knife I now have in my hand at, it will be the first time I kill someone who is a true innocent. Someone who is probably being closely watched by their family back home, who desperately want their son, daughter, brother or sister to return to them.

'Pull yourself together, Clove,' I tell myself furiously. 'You always knew what you'd have to do here.'

My eyes dart rapidly around the melee I'm standing in the centre of and I see Cato drive a spear into the tribute who'd been unfortunate enough to be standing at his side when the gong sounded. If I have to choose between him and any other person trapped in this nightmarish place of screams and blood then I choose him every time, I always would.

With that final thought, I throw my knife at the first tribute I see, painting an imaginary target on his back in my mind as a way of banishing all other thoughts from my head. I race forwards as I throw, unable to see who the boy is battling with for the orange backpack he thinks could save his life, drawing another knife as he crumples to the ground, not pausing for a fraction of a second.

Then I see her, and the instant I do, the chaos of the bloodbath fades into the background as all of the rage and anger I've suppressed since my name was drawn from the reaping ball is suddenly focussed on this one girl. For she is the girl who has, together with her district partner and their fictitious love story, probably ended even the tiny hope Cato and I had of persuading the Gamemakers to let us both live. Now is the time to make her pay. Suddenly nothing else matters other than that this girl answers to me with her life for what she's done.

I keep running towards her, raising the knife to throw just as she sees me. She looks straight at me and I see the sudden realisation that she's my next target appear on her face as clearly as if she had shouted out in fear. I smile my Arena smile in reply, because this girl's a predator as well, she's an opponent not a victim, and this is what I'm used to. This is what I've been raised to do, and I know nothing else so it feels like home.

However I change my mind when she turns her back on me and runs off towards the woods, running away like the coward she is. Eleven? The Gamemakers really have lost their minds to be so easily fooled by her act. If she isn't willing to stand and fight then it must be because she can't. How can this pathetic creature be thought worthy? How can the people in the Capitol who chant her name, who call her their Girl-on-Fire, not see her for what she really is?

I send the blade flying towards her but at the last minute she pulls up the orange bag and my weapon sinks into that. My heart sinks as she continues to race on and I follow her, running faster than I've ever ran before, telling myself to remember that if I can hit her once then I can do it again. Katniss Everdeen must die. Right now.

She's almost reached the woods before I get a good angle again, and I raise my third knife, taking careful aim at her retreating back. What I wish more than almost anything is that she'd stop running and face me. The people in the other districts say that Career Tributes have no honour, but I say they're wrong. Before this day I have never in my life stabbed anyone in the back, and, even in such circumstances as these, it pains me that I have to start now.

"Clove!"

I stop dead at the edge of the woods, lowering my arm with the knife handle still gripped tightly in my hand, watching as Katniss disappears into the shelter of the trees. I would recognise Cato's voice anywhere. District 12 will have to wait.

I turn away from the woods to face the Cornucopia and the bloodbath once more. Cato stands directly in front of the entrance to the golden horn, sword in hand and already fighting the surprisingly large number of tributes who are either stupid enough or desperate enough to challenge him. When I scan a slightly wider area, I notice that our allies are spread evenly across the plain, chasing down those whose thoughts are only of escape. Not only was I right about Lysandra but I was right about Glimmer too. In the split second that I stop to watch her, she cuts down the boy from District 8 with almost surgical precision, her face a mask, fury written all over her stunning features. Beautiful and deadly indeed.

Drawing another knife and throwing it at the tribute nearest to me, not even looking to see who it is, I cross back over to where Cato is fighting. He pauses briefly to pass me a long knife that's almost identical to the one I favour back home, before turning his back to me and confronting the next tribute.

"I should've made you promise as well," he calls to me over the noise of the battle as I move into position so we're back to back, not only making it virtually impossible for anyone to get past us to the supplies but shielding each other as well, in a strange echo of how we've fought so many times before at home.

Vikus and the other mentors used to find it highly entertaining to put the best trained would-be-tributes at the Training Centre like us into the Arena as teams, ensuring we were severely outnumbered to see how long it took to wear us down. As I bring down another nameless and faceless tribute, I can't help smiling a smug, satisfied smile, not in response to the tribute who sinks to the floor but at the memory of how when Cato and I fought together, more often than not, it was Vikus who got bored or ran out of opponents before we admitted defeat. The viewers don't know what I'm thinking of though. If they think my smile was due to the addition of another name to my kill list then that's all the better.

"Would you have given up a shot at District 12?" I reply as I sink my blade into a boy who charges madly towards me, his blind panic making him act without thinking.

"You know the answer to that already."

It doesn't take long for the challenges to stop, and although I have no way of telling how long we've been fighting, it seems like very little time has passed when I pull my knife free from the dead body of my last opponent and look down at the circle of ground around us. The thin patchy grass is covered with the blood of the tributes we've killed, many of whom lie at our feet where they fell. None of them stood a chance. These might have been those who thought they had at least some prospect of surviving the first battle, but in reality they didn't have the ability to fight back, they were never going to live.

As despicable as some people may find my response if they knew what I'm thinking, in the back of mind I can't help feeling glad that they thought and acted the way they did. I'm sure the Capitol will remember this display of violent efficiency as much as any slow and painful death that we may be forced to inflict later on in the Games.

I've always known that the District 2 tributes are popular with the viewers in the Capitol. I've seen them celebrated and showered with gifts from sponsors, who for some insane reason seem to find the whole trained-to-kill-from-an-early-age story strangely romantic as they paint an idealised image of us in their tiny little minds. But as I look down at my bloodstained shirt and trousers, the only thing I can think is that there is nothing romantic and idealised about this. This is reality, and reality is harsh and brutal like my life has always been, made all the worse by fate because I don't want to die but at the same time I know that if I live then Cato cannot.

I turn around to face Cato and he immediately reaches out and grasps my upper arms tightly, holding me away from him and scrutinising me closely.

"Is that yours?" he asks, his gaze fixed pointedly at a large patch of blood on my right thigh.

"No," I reply, stepping back out of his grip, hopefully before we attract the attention of the cameras. "District 7 didn't know when he'd lost. It's his."

Even though we've stopped and are simply standing side by side at the entrance to the Cornucopia, largely physically unaffected by the bloodbath, I quickly hear that the battle isn't over. I hear a shout and stare across the plain to where Arturo is still fighting, gasping in shock when I see that his adversary is the blond-haired boy from the coal district. I'd predicted that he would try to get out as quickly as possible, but it seems I was wrong.

I watch as they somehow manage to simultaneously disarm each other before giving up on weapons entirely and starting to wrestle. I get my second surprise when I quickly notice that Peeta is actually challenging Arturo and that the boy from District 4's training isn't giving him much of an advantage, confirming my suspicions that he was lucky to get his eight in training and he's every bit as feeble as he seemed to be when we had our altercation on the Training Centre roof.

"Kill him," says Cato, quietly breaking the silence as Arturo finally succeeds in pinning Peeta to the ground and begins to choke him.

"He will in a minute," I whisper back. "District 4 doesn't have your strength."

"Not him. I mean you. Throw your knife. Kill District 4."

"Don't be ridiculous," I reply incredulously, my voice increasing in volume. "Why? I know he's useless but I thought the Alliance would last longer than a couple of hours."

"Just do it, Clove," he hisses, pointing violently from me to the two fighting tributes. I simply look at him, knowing this is the arena talking because he's always known better than to try to issue me with orders without a good explanation. He sighs and continues. "It's amazing the information some people will reveal with a bit of…persuasion."

I look up at him in confusion for a second before his words suddenly make sense. "What…Oh. You think he'll tell us about Katniss?" He nods in response but I'm still not quite convinced. "Why would he? Even if he isn't her lover, he definitely doesn't hate her. He'll know we won't let him live even if he does betray her, so he won't talk."

He smiles slightly at me. "Not everyone has your intelligence or your courage. He's weak. He'll tell us everything because even the thought of the pain he'll suffer if he doesn't will be too much for him to bear. Trust me, Clove. If you kill District 4 then we'll know how the Girl On Fire got her eleven without even touching the boy. Then the Capitol can have the show they crave."

What he says makes sense, and when I find myself taking a step forward and raising my arm ready to throw, I realise he's talked me around like he always does. I take a couple more steps before looking back at my lover, who nods viciously in Arturo's direction, and the sight of him makes me abruptly reach my final decision.

He's never failed me before so I decide to trust Cato once more, letting the knife fly with a casual flick of my wrist. A second later it sinks into Arturo's heart, killing him instantly.

"You know that if this goes wrong then I'll make sure you suffer greatly," I say to Cato as I return to his side to survey the shocked faces of District 12 and our remaining allies, feeling less emotion at the sight of the dead boy lying across Peeta's legs than I felt for any of the others I've killed today.

"I would look forward to it," he replies, his tone of voice making me feel incredibly relieved that I don't visibly blush. I know him more than well enough to know what he's thinking as he sketches a mocking bow in my direction before continuing. "But it won't go wrong. He'll be too terrified to do anything but agree."

Cato and I start to walk across the plain towards Peeta, but we're soon halted by our allies, who are clearly looking for an explanation to help them understand why I killed one of our own to spare the life of a tribute we hate more than almost any other in the arena. Marvel strides angrily in my direction, obviously trying to frighten me without realising that I've spent years facing down powerful men who are at least a hundred times more intimidating than he could ever be.

"I'll kill you for that, District 2!"

I stare fearlessly at him as he approaches, waiting until he's almost close enough to touch me before I dart forwards myself. I dodge easily around him and slash my knife across his back, not enough to cause him serious injury but enough to slice through the fabric of his jacket and shirt to cut the skin underneath. He yelps in shock and pain, both of which show clearly on his face when I turn to look back at him. However shock and pain swiftly turn to humiliation when I carry on walking like he isn't even there, Cato beside me with a wicked-looking smirk on his face that doesn't disappear when we reach Peeta.

The boy from District 12 looks too stunned by recent events to move or even to think, and he stares blankly up at Cato, his mouth opening and closing as if he wants to plead for his life but can't get his words out. His eyes flick to mine, perhaps looking for someone more sympathetic, but he soon looks away when he realises he won't find what he's looking for.

Then I sense a movement behind me and spin around instantly, expecting Marvel. I relax slightly when I see Glimmer. It's too early in the Games for our alliance to break and we both know it.

"So what can you tell us that'll make us spare your life, Lover Boy?" asks the girl from District 1 coldly.

I fight hard to keep the emotion from showing on my face but inside I'm doubly shocked, firstly because Glimmer has once more surpassed my expectations of her, showing an intelligence greatly belied by her appearance, and secondly because of the name she calls Peeta and the memories it brings flooding back. The last person I heard referred to as 'Lover Boy' was Cato, and that was by my old enemy, Lucius, on the day of my reaping, a day that seems like an eternity ago.

"You're smart, District 1," says Cato, looking at Glimmer like he's seeing her for the first time before he lifts a spear from the ground and positions the point so it rests on Peeta's chest directly above his heart. "It will work like this, District 12. We'll ask you questions and if we're satisfied with the answers then we'll let you live a bit longer. Is that understood?"

Peeta nods his head frantically, again seeming to be too terrified to speak. His every move proves to me that Cato had been right when he told me the boy would betray Katniss in a heartbeat to save his own life. I look from him to Cato, who is once more in 'arena-mode', his face a mask of hatred and rage, and wonder at the difference between the two of them. Reverse their positions and I know without a doubt that Cato would fight his captors to the death no matter how heavily the odds were weighed against him, and that the thought of betraying me wouldn't even enter his head no matter what they did to him.

"So when we've set up camp, we're going to have a long chat about Katniss Everdeen and that eleven," he continues. "And I saw you watching her in training so I know you realise you'll have one of Clove's knives in your back before you've gone two steps if you try to escape."

The terrified boy continues to nod frantically, eventually managing to speak but only in a stuttering whisper. "Katniss…yes, I can tell you all about Katniss…they trained us together… What do you want to know?"

"Everything you do," I say, reaching out to lift the spear away from him as Glimmer kicks Arturo's body off his legs.

Cato doesn't resist, staring intently at me for a second before raising the spear and roughly helping Peeta to his feet. The boy from the coal district is shaking so much he can barely stand.

* * *

It takes us about an hour to sort through all of the supplies that are scattered in and around the Cornucopia, and I'm surprised by the amount the Gamemakers have left us. There's enough food and weaponry to keep all five of us going for weeks, so starvation obviously isn't going to be an issue in this year's Games. The viewers in the Capitol must be fed up with watching tributes slowly starve to death before their eyes, which I suppose makes sense when I try to put myself in their position. After all, half-starved people barely have the energy to move, never mind fight, so they probably aren't very interesting.

"Are we waiting until it gets dark to go hunting?" I say to Cato as I look up from the crate I'm sorting at the entrance to the Cornucopia when I hear him approach.

"It makes sense," he replies. I get the impression he wants to say something else, but he doesn't continue.

I unzip my jacket and take one of my knives out of the lining, holding it out to him. He doesn't take it immediately, he just stands about a stride away, looking questioningly down at me.

"You might need it," I say. "Just make sure I'm well out of the way if you decide to throw it at any of the tributes."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he replies, taking another step towards me.

"That you're a really bad shot," I answer flatly, trying unsuccessfully to stop myself from laughing. He isn't as bad as I imply really, but in all the years we've spent together, I've never been able to teach him to throw with anything like my accuracy.

"You should just consider yourself lucky that the cameras are rolling, because if they weren't then I'd make you pay for that," he growls in a voice so low that I'm sure it won't register on the aforementioned cameras, a voice that makes me shiver involuntarily and wish the whole of Panem wasn't watching us because I know exactly how he'd make me pay. He takes the knife from me and puts it inside his jacket pocket. "I think Lover Boy has had long enough to think about what'll happen to him if we don't like what he has to say," he continues, returning to his arena voice once more.

He walks in Peeta's direction, but then immediately turns back to face me when he realises I'm not following. I hold up my hand to stop him from speaking, listening intently, my head angled towards the trees that lie a short distance behind us.

"What?"

"Shhh. Listen."

He does what I say and very soon I hear a voice again, female this time but as distressed as the first, distinctly male voice that had initially attracted my attention. I look at Cato and he nods to me before heading towards the unfortunate boy from the coal district once more.

"Go and deal with that," he calls back. "Leave Lover Boy to me."

* * *

I walk in the direction of the voices, drawing a knife from my jacket when I reach the tree line. I only have to walk a short distance before I get to the edge of a clearing, where I stop to survey the scene before me.

"If you won't help me then I'll have to do it myself," says the boy tribute, who I vaguely recognise as the one from District 5 despite the fact he has his back to me.

"You can't!" shouts the same female voice I heard before, forgetting to moderate the volume of her speech in her panic.

I can't see who she is as District 5 is blocking my view of her, and as they start to struggle over an object I can't see, I throw the knife into the boy's back and watch as he collapses forwards into his companion, who screams as he hits the ground.

Her head snaps up and she sees me instantly. Lysandra. Now is my chance, my chance to kill her before she works out how she's going to kill me. I reach for another knife and raise my arm to throw again, pushing back the sudden regret I feel because I have no choice but to end the life of a girl whose determination I have unexpectedly come to respect.

Just as I'm about to release the knife, she turns and sprints for her life into the woods. The cannons that all sound together on the first day, one for each dead tribute, begin to fire as I chase after her.

I manage to throw a couple of knives at her, each time getting close to my flame-haired target but never quite hitting the mark. She's still aware of her surroundings even in her blind panic and is somehow able to dodge the blades I'm becoming convinced would have brought down any other tribute in this arena.

As I race on I can see I'm gaining on her rapidly though, and each knife I throw gets that little bit closer to its mark as she quickly loses energy. She can't outrun me, she doesn't have the level of fitness that a lifetime of training and never knowing hunger brings, and I almost stop when my next knife sails towards her, certain that this time she'll be mine. But I abruptly have to force myself to continue when she ducks to the right at the last possible minute so the blade misses her by inches.

The thought she might have outwitted me crosses my mind for the first time when she veers off the path, pushing herself through gaps in the branches and foliage that are so small I have no hope of following. I've always been small, especially for a Career Tribute, and as I'm so frequently reminded by Cato, there are thirteen year olds back at the Training Centre in District 2 who are taller and weigh more than me, but Lysandra is smaller still.

With that thought I slow to a walk and pause to think about what I'm doing, looking carefully at the ground and the surrounding bushes and trees for signs of her path. It's clear to see now I'm looking for it. I follow the footprints and broken branches until I reach a clearing and see a very obvious trail leading to the foot of a tall tree, stopping only to draw two more knives from my jacket, suddenly grateful that I had the presence of mind to fill the lining with them before I left the Cornucopia.

I slide the blades along each other so they make a familiar scraping sound, smiling at the memory it brings back, remembering how I used to do the very same thing to intimidate my opponents in the Arena at home. There's only one problem this time though, and that problem is that I'm not actually convinced my opponent is even here to be intimidated. Everything I've seen of the girl from the laboratory district tells me that she would never be stupid enough to make my job that easy, and a much more likely explanation is that she's deliberately left the footprints to make me think she's in the tree when she's really speeding away from me as fast as her legs can carry her.

Determined not to be defeated so easily, unable to stop myself from thinking about the people of the Capitol who will be watching on their television screens right now, I stride in the direction of the tree anyway. I will not allow the Gamemakers to know me as the girl who was evaded by a weak and half-starved child from somewhere like District 5. However the next second, my plans abruptly change when I hear footsteps approaching.

Whoever the person is, it's obvious they're trying desperately hard to be silent. However they're failing so dismally that I know it isn't Cato immediately. No matter how much I tease him for his inability to sneak up on me, he could do a much better job than this idiot. I stand perfectly still, poised to attack, when a familiar and much despised voice rings out across the small clearing.

"What are you doing out here? He won't finish dividing up the supplies or go out hunting without you."

I scowl viciously at Marvel as he strolls towards me, and I'm pleased to see that despite his impatience to start hunting, the arrogant expression slides visibly from his face when he sees me with my knives drawn. From his words it seems that Cato won't go anywhere without me, and that's something I'll have to speak to him about or the Gamemakers and audience are going to start speculating. Of course, that's assuming that they aren't already. Thinking back to the bloodbath and our exchange of words when we killed Arturo and threatened Peeta, we probably haven't been anywhere near as discreet as we'd planned to be.

"A bit of hunting," I reply harshly. "I got the one from District 5."

"The fox-girl?" he asks, stepping away as I step towards him.

I want to tell him that if I'd truly wanted him dead then he would have been dead the second he entered the clearing, but I decide I can't be bothered and cross over to Lysandra's tree instead.

"No, the boy," I say as I look up through the thick foliage, hoping I'll see Lysandra's strange amber eyes staring back at me but at the same time not really expecting to.

"Well, are you coming back to the camp then?"

"Not because you're telling me to, District 1. Be careful you don't forget how precarious life can be in the arena," I reply, talking to him like I've talked to so many of my defeated challengers in the past and relishing the fear induced so obviously on the boy's features by my mere tone of voice.

His own voice shakes with uncertainty as he replies.

"You mean I might meet my end in the same way that Arturo did? No, you need me," he says, sounding like he's trying to convince himself as much as he is me. "And Glimmer and Varia. You won't kill me."

"Won't I? I know you're arrogant but do you genuinely believe that _I _need _you_? If you can explain to me exactly why I need you alive then perhaps I won't kill you. Right now you're irritating us and you seem pretty expendable to me."

He stares blankly back at me for a few seconds before retreating back the way he came, backing away from me like he thinks I'm going to stab him in the back. I won't do it, you stupid boy, I tell him inside my head. I've had more than enough of stabbing people in the back today, and besides, if I'm going to kill him then I want to see the arrogance in his eyes die just as much as I want to hear his cannon fire.

* * *

A short time later I approach the entrance of the golden horn again. Glimmer is sorting weapons a short distance away, with Marvel and Varia arguing over an unidentified bag by the lake, but Cato and District 12 are nowhere to be seen. I look enquiringly at Glimmer. and when she nods in the direction of the other side of the Cornucopia, I continue to walk that way, finding Cato talking to, or should I more accurately say, threatening, the boy from the coal district.

"Are we having trouble understanding each other?" I ask, almost hopefully. Taking out a high profile tribute on the first day can only help to keep me and Cato in the thoughts of the Gamemakers, so if I'm honest then I'm not too eager to spare his life whatever he knows.

"No, not now. I think we know what the arrangement will be. It's surprising how much detail he can remember if he's persuaded to try."

"Does he truly understand what his options are?" I ask, and both my lover and my enemy look at me curiously. I move closer, taking care not to stand too close to District 12 so I don't have to look up at him to meet his eyes as I turn to face him. "Option One is that you tell us absolutely everything you know about your precious Katniss as do exactly as Cato and I tell you at all times. Option Two is that we kill you, slowly and painfully in a way that will be remembered in the Capitol for a hundred years." I smile sarcastically at him, pulling two knives out of my jacket pockets and holding one in each hand. "The choice is yours."

Cato laughs coldly and moves to stand behind me, lifting his arm and draping it casually over my shoulder. I lean back against him without lowering the knives, and the contact makes me feel warm for the first time since we arrived in here. However Peeta visibly pales at our very obvious show of unity, looking like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him.

"Go and bandage your arm before you bleed to death," instructs Cato unsympathetically, before putting his hands on my shoulders and turning me around to face him, speaking in a completely different tone, his voice low so that only I can hear. "Don't worry, he's been quite…informative. If he's to be believed then she threw a knife up into the stands during her private session."

"At the Gamemakers?" I ask incredulously.

"Not at them exactly. She can't have done or she would've been executed."

"Giving her an eleven then putting her into an arena with us sounds like a death sentence to me," I reply with a smile.

He smiles back as we follow Peeta over to our camp by the lake.

"It'll be dark soon, then she'll learn the hard way that she can't do what she did to us without there being painful consequences."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

We waited until it was almost dark before leaving our camp by the lake, and after finally convincing Varia that her life wouldn't be worth living if she didn't stay behind to guard the supplies, we headed into the forest in search of the remaining tributes.

I walk by Cato's side at the front of our small group, carefully listening to the other three behind me in case they decide to do something stupid and try to break the alliance on the first day. If I have to die in here then it won't be because I get stabbed in the back by a brainless idiot like Marvel or Peeta. Not that I think either of them would have the courage to try.

Right now they're talking amongst themselves as we walk. Most of the noise seems to originate from Marvel, who's spending his time trying unsuccessfully to get Glimmer to look at him as something other than a minor and insignificant irritation she can't even be bothered to get rid of. Peeta trails behind, not quite daring to engage any of us in conversation.

I wish I could tell them to put out their torches because I'm sure any tribute with even the smallest amount of common sense will be expecting us and will see the light if we get close. However as Cato and I are wearing the only two pairs of night-vision glasses we have, I imagine they would make even more noise than they are now if they couldn't see anything at all.

We reach a gap in the trees just as the familiar chords of the anthem blare out across the arena, and when I hear it and look up to the sky to see the seal of the Capitol, I suddenly remember the death recap. I'd been too preoccupied with chasing Lysandra to count the number of cannons that were fired a short time after the battle at the Cornucopia ended, but it sounded like a lot to me, more than average anyway.

The first tribute to appear in the sky is the white-haired girl from District 3, and as nobody else claims her as being their kill, I have to assume she was mine even though I don't remember her. Even when I try really hard to recall the events of today, I find I can remember very little about the bloodbath. All of the tributes seem to have blended into one another, forming a bright red haze of blood and screams in my mind that's so mixed up I'm totally unable to discern an individual face.

Thinking of the bloodbath makes me think of Cassia, a now ancient past victor who was one of the very first District 2 Careers, and something she once said to me. Crippled by age in body but as sane as I am in mind and as quick-witted as she was when she won the Games, she could often be found in the stands of the Arena, shouting instructions to those who were training on the sand below. She'd never ever admit it but she liked me, and I'd always liked her, knowing she'd be guaranteed to give me an honest answer to my questions and that she expected my best effort every time she saw me train and would accept no less. She chastised me in no uncertain terms if she thought for a second I wasn't really trying, and she was and still is one of the few people I respect.

Once, only a few months earlier, she asked me to describe to her exactly how I'd won a practice fight, one that on paper I really should have lost, and I honestly couldn't tell her even though I'd left the amphitheatre only moments before. I'd expected her to be angry but she wasn't, she just smiled at me and told me that once I cease to remember battles then I'm ready for the arena and there's nothing else the Training Centre can teach me. I'd laughed, thinking how only hours before, Vikus had stood in the exact same position as the old woman and called me a disgrace to the district.

I don't know why, but her next words stuck in my head and I can remember them exactly; 'Women like us, who live like we must, misremember battles like most women your age misremember childbirth. The ability to forget the pain is the only thing that enables it to be endured more than once'. At the time I thought she'd finally lost her mind, but now I know she was as sane as ever. The Games have killed any chance I might have had of knowing the pain of the latter, but the vague recollection of the former is enough to convince me that she spoke the truth.

Arturo appears next, and in the dim light of our torches I see Cato glare at Marvel, daring him to rekindle our earlier argument about the death of the boy from the fishing district who had been his closest ally. The boy from District 1 says nothing, and the only time any of us speaks at all is to claim those who we know are on our kill lists in the Capitol. A further nine tributes appear in the sky, with no great surprises.

"Eleven down," says Cato, breaking the sudden silence that followed the end of the anthem.

"It doesn't matter who died. What matters is who's still alive," I say. "There's us, Lover Boy and his girlfriend, Lysandra…who else?"

"District 11," answers Glimmer instantly, with something that in any other circumstances I would have called relief showing briefly on her face. I look questioningly at her but she returns my gaze defiantly. "Both of them," she adds.

"The boy from 3 as well," adds Cato. "I don't even remember what he looks like but he didn't appear either."

"So there are two left that we can't remember."

"District 8," says Glimmer.

"One," I continue in response, trying to recall the faces of all the tributes to work out who's missing. I count the survivors off again, irritated with myself that I can't remember. "The five of us, District 12, Lysandra, one from 3, one from 8, Sparkle's friend and his district partner…"

Glimmer scowls at me. "How many times have I told you-"

"-don't call me Sparkle," I finish with a grin. "But I don't see why I can't. All the people in the Capitol think you sparkle wonderfully. They were queuing up to take your photograph because you were so…sparkly."

She scowls again, though she's staring into the distance and I get the impression her anger is directed at the Capitol rather than at me. "I'll go and find District 3 for you. Then you'll be able to pick on someone your own size," she retorts, just managing to get her words out before we both laugh.

"Ladies, entertaining though it is to watch you arguing, we have tributes to hunt," interrupts Cato, his voice full of mock exasperation before he switches to a harsher tone to address the whole group. "Go," he says, gesturing forwards into the trees. "Hurry up!"

The others do as he says with varying amounts of protest but I remain where I was, staring unblinkingly up at him.

"Make me," I say, my lips curling up into a slight smile as I choose, for this particular moment at least, to pretend that the Games aren't happening.

He stalks towards me, taking a knife from his coat pocket as he gets closer, smirking when I do the same.

"Anytime I want to, Little Girl," he taunts.

"You wish," I reply, speaking in the familiar mocking voice I used to put on in the Arena at home. It used to either infuriate or, more commonly, terrify most of my opponents, but Cato just looks at me like he'd eat me alive. I try not to look at him like I'd let him.

I walk towards him and we stop about a stride apart, struggling to keep from laughing as Marvel's voice drifts back to us, asking Glimmer if we've decided to kill each other in a very hopeful tone.

"No, they're just messing around. Hurry up, District 2, we have tributes to hunt," she replies, sounding very superior as she deliberately speaks loudly enough that we hear every word as she mirrors what Cato said moments before.

* * *

I look up at the canopy of leaves and branches, struggling to prevent myself from screaming in frustration. We've been walking around and around this forest nearly all night in the freezing cold, seeing no sign of another tribute since we left our camp by the lake, probably because they'd have that much warning of our approach that even the crippled boy from District 10 I've now identified as being the final survivor, would have plenty of time to hide. Peeta makes as much noise as about ten people and my attempts to threaten him into silence only seem to make him louder. Marvel isn't much better and however hard he's trying, being as tall and heavily built as he is, Cato's finding it hard to creep around in the close confined spaces of the woods as well.

"I've had enough of this. We should go back to camp and wait. They'll run out of food and water soon enough," says Cato finally and I sigh audibly in relief.

"We can start again tonight," agrees Glimmer.

I'm about to voice my support for the suggestion when I notice a flickering light in the distance.

"Everybody stop," I whisper, pointing to the light.

Cato leans down so his head's level with mine so he can see it as well before striding confidently towards it, dragging me with him. The others follow closely behind.

"I hope it's your girlfriend, Lover Boy," says Cato harshly to a very anxious looking Peeta.

So do I, but I know it won't be. Whoever it is who lit that fire might as well have called our names repeatedly until we found them. As much as I dislike Katniss, I know she'd never be quite that stupid.

We're upon the girl I recognise as being the one from District 8 before she even knows we're there. She looks so young and afraid, knowing she has no chance of escaping with the life she's so desperately pleading for as we surround her. Marvel steps forward, prodding her with the sword he carries, not even cutting her, just tormenting her and increasing her terror.

There is no honour in this. I could take the sword from Marvel and give it to the girl and she still wouldn't have the will or strength to fight back. The girl from District 8 isn't an opponent, she's a defenceless child, and seeing her makes the difference between the reality of the Hunger Games and my life back in District 2 suddenly rise up before me so I can't avoid it. It would be one thing to make Katniss or Lysandra or, as would be my dearest wish, Marvel suffer. They're playing the game as much as I am and would kill me if they could, but this girl isn't. Unlike the others, she has neither the strength nor the wit.

The girl continues to plead with Marvel as he drives her back into Peeta, who neither allows her to escape nor pushes her back to her attacker. Something snaps inside me and I pull a knife from my jacket, striding over to the girl, intending to put her out of her misery, only to have my path blocked by Marvel.

"She's going on my kill list not yours, Clove."

"Then hurry up and kill her, you pathetic little boy, or I'll kill you as well as her," I snap back, brandishing my knife at him instead of the terrified girl who has fallen to her knees in front of Peeta.

Marvel takes the hint and slashes his sword across the girl's chest. She slumps to the ground with a scream that echoes across the arena.

"Twelve down and eleven to go!" shouts Marvel to the sky, and we all cheer because it's what the Capitol expects of us.

Eleven to go. Or is that going to be ten to go and myself? Pushing that thought from my head, I walk over to the campfire that was the cause of the girl's demise, quickly sorting through her small bag and establishing there's nothing there worth having.

"Nothing," I announce to the rest of them. "But we shouldn't leave it for someone else."

I throw the bag at Peeta, who puts it on his shoulder without comment. When is he going to give me an excuse to kill him? It's only the fact I'm not convinced he's told us everything he knows about Katniss keeping him alive and I'm hoping we'll find her soon so he no longer has a use.

"Come on. It's nearly dawn. If we're going to hunt at night we should get some rest," says Glimmer, her voice cutting through the silence.

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking."

I wince at that, wishing Cato had been facing me when he'd said those words. The rational part of me knows he's performing for the cameras and our so-called allies like he has done all day, but the rest of me shivers to hear him talk like that. The real Cato, the one I know better than anyone, would have killed the girl himself for the same reasons as me if Marvel hadn't, but he wouldn't have spoken of her death with such vulgarity. As I couldn't see his face to recognise the lie in his eyes when he spoke, it was so like hearing Vikus talk with my lover's voice that I'm suddenly chilled to the bone.

I cross the short distance across the clearing to stand by his side, seeking the reassurance I know his familiar presence will bring, reassurance that he's still the man he was before we arrived here. He gestures imperiously to the others and they set off through the trees, Peeta and Marvel obeying without question and Glimmer winking at him before she saunters away like moving had been her idea.

"And you," he says, looking down at me before nodding in the direction the others had disappeared, his expression no softer but much more recognisable. "We can't stay here all night."

He pushes the back of my jacket and shirt upwards, pressing his hand firmly against the small of my back and giving me a knowing look as he pushes me forwards. The chill that had invaded my entire body vanishes, and even though I'm still conscious that the eyes of the nation are probably watching us and that we're failing dismally at maintaining our pretence of indifference to each other, I suddenly don't care. His touch tells me the only thing that matters, for it tells me he hasn't changed at all.

We walk a short way in the direction of the lake before I suddenly realise what was missing. I reach forward to pull Glimmer's arm and then stop walking so abruptly that Cato walks into me. I glare up at him when he takes just that little bit too long to step away and I notice Glimmer's knowing smile.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?"

"I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately," replies Glimmer.

"Unless she isn't dead," suggests Cato viciously, staring straight at Marvel.

"She's dead. I stuck her myself," answers the boy from District 1, his tone of voice telling me he's clearly not much more convinced than Cato is.

"Then where's the cannon?" asks Glimmer, seemingly almost wanting a fight to break out and for her district partner to end up being on the receiving end of mine and Cato's brand of justice.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done," I say, trying to be practical in the face of this escalating argument despite the fact that if I had my way both Marvel and Peeta would be dead already.

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice."

"I said she's dead!" shouts Marvel, glaring at his counterpart and turning away furiously when he sees how little effect his rage has on her.

I look at him and see nothing but a pathetic, immature boy having a tantrum. I'm cold and tired, and therefore not in the mood to tolerate Marvel's stupidity. Enough is enough. This ends here. All I have to do is make him lose control a mere fraction more and I'll have no choice but to add his name to my kill list back in the Capitol.

"Have you ever known them forget to fire the cannon?" I ask in a falsely gentle tone before pausing and then reverting back to the snarling voice I usually have when addressing the boy from District 1. "If you'd done the job properly instead of playing up to the cameras then we'd be back at camp by now."

"We could test the theory by seeing if they sound yours when I kill you, Clove," he snarls back, but I don't miss the way he can't meet my gaze and the way his eyes flash to the side in response to Cato's quiet laughter.

"Come on then. I'll try not to laugh when you try," I taunt as I draw two knives from my jacket.

"You're no match for me," he retorts, but his voice has lost as much of its bravado as his body language.

"We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

I'm that startled to hear Peeta's voice that I turn away from Marvel to stare at him in stunned silence.

"Go on then, Lover Boy," replies Cato. "See for yourself."

Peeta lifts his torch higher with his uninjured arm and heads back towards the clearing. We all watch him leave, Cato silencing Marvel with a look when the boy goes to speak.

"Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?" asks Glimmer eventually in a hushed voice.

"Let him tag along. What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife."

"Besides, he's our best chance of finding her," I add, not entirely sure I don't agree with Glimmer but not wanting to go against Cato when I can also see the sense in what he says.

"Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?"

I smile at hearing her say that. It sounds like she's about as convinced by District 12's love story as I am. I always knew she was a sensible woman.

"She might have. Seemed pretty simple-minded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke," replies Marvel, most likely agreeing with Glimmer in an attempt to make her like him rather than because he's actually thought about what Katniss does and doesn't believe.

I shake my head slightly, thinking I don't think I could come up with an insult to direct at Katniss that could be more offensive than Marvel calling her simple-minded. If she really is simple-minded compared to the arrogant and totally useless boy from District 1 then there really is no hope for her.

"Wish we knew how she got that eleven," says Glimmer, looking to Cato and me rather than at Marvel.

"Bet you Lover Boy knows," replies Cato.

I raise my hand to silence them when I hear Peeta noisily returning.

"Was she dead?" asks Cato.

"No, but she is now," he answers, which seems strange to me because the cannon still hasn't fired.

Apart from on the first day, the Gamemakers fire the cannon the second the computer that's remotely connected to a tribute's tracker device informs them that their heart has stopped beating, so why hasn't the cannon fired? The next second a cannon does sound but if you ask me it's about a minute too late. There's something not quite right there.

"Ready to move on?" continues Peeta, looking at me as if he can detect the direction of my thoughts.

I decide to let it go for now and nod brusquely at him before running for the trees, heading back towards the lake. A couple of seconds later I hear the others following, Cato and Glimmer catching up with me easily, with Marvel close behind and Peeta trailing along at the back of the group.

I realise he's never going to keep up with us as he doesn't have the benefit of a lifetime of training, but that doesn't stop him from trying, and the more he tries, the more noise he makes. Eventually I get fed up and raise my hand to stop the group before coming to an abrupt halt. Cato looks questioningly at me as I start walking again.

"Lover Boy won't be able to tell us much about his beloved girlfriend if he dies of exhaustion," I say, scowling at the boy from District 12 as Glimmer's suggestion of just killing him now gets more and more appealing by the second. All I want is to get back to camp and yet again he's slowing me down.

"Maybe we can get Marvel to kill him," he says dryly. "That way we can guarantee his continued survival."

"It's not my fault she didn't die," replies Marvel, a hint of embarrassment in his voice for the first time.

"You'd never have got to the Games if you'd been born in my district," Cato tells him harshly. "Too much prancing about and posturing for the cameras and not enough intelligence. Even if you'd been lucky you'd have been dead before you saw your fifteenth birthday."

"I don't think so. There are people back home who tremble with fear at the mere mention of my name."

"And how old are they? Five?" I retort, laughing at him openly.

He turns an interesting shade of red in response before forcing himself to reply. "If you hadn't got in my way then nothing would have gone wrong."

"If you'd done the job properly in the first place then there wouldn't have been a problem, would there?" snarls Cato, instinctively defending me even though he doesn't really have to, especially against the likes of the boy from 1.

The lake and the Cornucopia come into view and I begin to wonder if Marvel's going to be alive for long enough to get there.

"I thought she was dead," answers Marvel, sounding slightly desperate now. "She looked dead."

"She wasn't dead when Lover Boy went back, was she?" replies Cato aggressively.

I'm not entirely convinced she was dead when he left her either but I keep my thoughts to myself, for now anyway.

"You won't last very long if you don't know the difference between dead and alive," I add, smiling as Glimmer rolls her eyes in the direction of both her district partner and mine. "Maybe I should teach you…."

I deliberately let my threat trail off, letting his imagination do the rest of my work for me as I wait for his response, but there isn't one. Not that I would have heard him anyway. For the next second, our camp comes fully into view and I see Varia standing there with a small figure lying on the ground at her feet. I haven't heard a cannon since District 8's so I know the tribute isn't dead, and the overly-violent and sadistic girl from the fishing district is clearly losing her touch because he or she doesn't seem to be screaming in pain either. There's more to this than there first appears. There must be a reason why she hasn't killed whoever it is.

As soon as he sees what I see, Cato stalks forwards, drawing his sword. I follow closely behind and see that the tribute at Varia's feet must be District 3. He's small and very young looking, without appearing as malnourished as some of the rest, and seems to be openly trembling with fear as he watches our approach.

"What are you playing at?" yells Cato at Varia as he pushes her roughly out of the way, knocking her to the floor as he raises his sword and points it directly at the boy. My first thought is that my ally is lucky, and then I realise I half expected Cato to kill her for this.

"He could be very useful to us. Just give me a chance to explain," she pleads, a hint of contrition in her voice for the first time in my memory.

I can almost see Cato thinking as he reaches the same conclusion as I did. There must be a reason why she left the boy alive and we should at least hear it before we kill them both. I stand silently by his side, choosing not to interfere.

He looks at Varia. "Very well," he says, before looking down at District 3. "Boy, go over there and wait. If you move-"

"Yes, I know, I'll die a long and painful death."

Even though I'd previously decided not to interfere, I rapidly change my mind when I hear that. For one reason or another we seem to be accumulating tributes who we really should be killing, and even though I understand why we must, I won't have them disrespecting us under any circumstances. They must know where they stand and that is well and truly at our mercy.

"Don't interrupt," I snap as I lash out, slapping the boy across his face hard enough to knock him back to the ground. He falls surprisingly easily and then stares up at me with wide eyes, shaking even more than he had been before. "Just go over there. If you move then you'll suffer the same fate as the bag you'll be sitting on."

I see confusion intermingled with fear on his face in response to my words, so once I'm satisfied he isn't going to dare answer back, I clarify my meaning by drawing three knives from my jacket and throwing them in rapid succession into a bag that rests a short distance from the entrance to the Cornucopia. The boy visibly gulps before scurrying over to the bag and sitting carefully upon it, looking at my knives like they're going to jump up and stab him of their own accord.

I turn away in disgust at his feebleness and take my place with the others as we sit in a small circle to discuss the boy's fate.

"This had better be good, District 4," starts Cato, his casual tone of voice not totally hiding the veiled threat.

"He says he can reset the mines," she says flatly in return, smiling smugly when we stare at her in stunned silence.

"It can't be done," replies Cato eventually.

"Has anyone ever tried before?" asks Glimmer.

I shake my head in response. "Explain," I instruct Varia, and she proceeds to tell us how she had captured the boy as he tried to get water from the lake and how he had promised to reactivate the mines to guard the supplies if she spared his life.

I shake my head once more as she speaks. I don't like the idea. We don't need the mines. We're perfectly capable of guarding the supplies ourselves and besides, if the boy starts messing with Capitol technology then he'll probably end up blowing himself up and taking us all with him, by accident if he doesn't have the courage to do it on purpose.

"No," I say firmly. "We kill him and be done with it. We don't need him and what he offers is too risky."

"I like the idea," says Marvel. "No more guard duty."

"If he can do it then our defences will be infallible," adds Glimmer, sounding infinitely more reasonable than her stupid district partner but not saying what I want her to say either.

"But who will watch him? Who here has the knowledge to supervise what he's doing?"

"We don't supervise him, we control him," replies Cato. "In the usual way," he continues, his expression full of menace as he clenches his hands into tight fists.

"Why don't we vote?" says Peeta quietly, joining the discussion for the first time.

I'm quite unable to stop myself from laughing hysterically at him.

"Lover Boy, I don't know what it's like in District 12, but where I come from, if people can't agree then they don't vote and go with the majority, they fight until there's only one left standing and that person gets to decide."

He shifts nervously and, most interestingly, so does Marvel. It looks like the repeated death threats are starting to sink in and he's finally beginning to realise that I'm not joking.

"So who thinks the mines are worth a try?" perseveres Peeta when the fact I'm not quite ready to stand up and start annihilating everyone who doesn't agree with me eventually registers.

I sigh deeply, knowing already how the vote will go. Varia, Marvel and Glimmer like the idea, and I think Cato will go for it too. I know him well enough to know he'll be curious to see if the boy is capable of keeping his word.

The three others raise their hands and Cato nods sharply before getting to his feet, dragging me with him as he walks towards the terrified looking boy.

"I mean it. I don't like this," I hiss quietly so the others who are now following us can't hear.

"I'll watch him myself. If we think he's up to something then it ends immediately, whatever the others say. You have my word."

I shrug my shoulders in reluctant acceptance as we reach the boy and surround him.

"Lover Boy," snaps Cato suddenly, talking to Peeta but still looking at District 3. "Dig up the mines."

The boy visibly sighs with relief as he slowly realises we aren't going to kill him. Not yet anyway. I also sigh for a different reason when Marvel draws his sword and steps forward to point it at the terrified tribute whose life is totally in our hands. Why is he such a liability? How I wish Peeta had decided to fight him at the bloodbath instead of Arturo. Not that I think the boy from 4 had shown much more intelligence, but it'd be virtually impossible for him to be more stupid than Marvel.

"If you hurt me then I won't be able to reactivate the mines," says the boy, surprising me by showing a bravery that up until now I didn't think him capable of.

"How dare you answer back to me!" shouts the boy from District 1, obviously trying to imitate Cato and failing dismally as he presses the tip of the sword to the boy's throat.

"Marvel! Stop!" I shout, sending him my best death-stare as he threatens to go too far and ruin the plan.

"Clove, you need to calm down. Although I can't deny that you're very sexy when you're angry," he replies, sneering arrogantly at me.

I understand then how truly misguided and stupid he is when he walks slowly in my direction, daring to look at me as if he actually thinks I'd let him anywhere near me. First Glimmer and now me. Who does he think he is? Finnick Odair? Not that it would get him very far with me even if he was. He's so arrogant that he either can't see the hatred I feel for him or doesn't think it important.

I watch him steadily as he closes the distance between us, waiting until a smug smile appears on his face when he gets close enough to touch me without me reacting. Then, in a repeat of what I did to Augustus in the Capitol Training Centre, I punch him in the jaw hard enough to make him cry out with pain, in just the right place to make him crumple dazedly to the floor. That was another thing about Cassia; she taught me exactly how to cancel out a height and weight advantage with one well-placed punch.

"Have you dug the mines up yet, Lover Boy? District 3, you'd better work quickly or I may start to run out of patience. Believe me you wouldn't want that to happen," I shout, seething with anger as I stride away from them all, pushing past Varia and heading in the direction of the Cornucopia. "Cato, we need some more water," I finish abruptly, watching for long enough to see him roll his eyes at me before following to fetch the bottles from entrance to the golden horn, kicking Marvel viciously in the stomach as he passes him.

* * *

After digging up the deactivated mines and spending only a couple of hours watching the boy work, the others are starting to get restless. Being in the arena is physically and mentally exhausting and that exhaustion is starting to tell now. Tempers are getting shorter by the second.

"It's not a ten minute job," I remind Cato as he gets up to pace around for what seems like the hundredth time.

"He should at least look like he's making progress by now," he replies. "It's about time he proved he's worthy of his continued existence."

"If you go over there then you'll terrify him even more and it will take longer."

"But he's not working. He's drinking our water and eating our food."

I look across to see that Cato's right, the boy has gone to the Cornucopia and helped himself to an apple from one of the bags, along with a bottle of water. Unable to stop himself, Cato strides towards him just as he looks over at us. He drops the bottle to the floor, immediately walking in the direction of where he had been working.

"How much longer?" shouts Cato as he reaches District 3 and pushes him in the direction of the mines that still lie inactivated on the ground.

The boy stumbles forward and falls to the floor before lifting his head and slowly turning to look at my lover with fear in his pale eyes. I suspect I'm the only person in the world who notices the expression of surprise that flashes briefly across Cato's face, but it's definitely there. Even after many years with me and even more of training and fighting, he still doesn't know his own strength sometimes.

"Not long now," he stammers. "I just have to remove the wires that connect the remote to the mine. That's the part which allows the Gamemakers deactivate them. Deactivating that one part breaks the circuit so the electricity that provides the heat to make the powder explode can't work even if the mine is moved and the reaction's triggered."

He seems to grow in confidence as he continues to go into an excessive amount of detail about the mechanics of landmines, and I suspect that's because he genuinely knows what he's talking about. The Training Centre might be the place I call home, but before I went there I was the daughter of an influential past victor, who, along with the weapons training, lectures and beatings, also provided me with the best education a girl born in one of Panem's districts could hope to receive. But even so, that education was abruptly ended when he died, so it takes all of my concentration to follow what he is saying and even then I barely understand any of it.

"So all you have to do is make the circuit complete again, then the mines will work and the Gamemakers won't be able to deactivate them from the Control Room," I interrupt, speaking with a lot more confidence than I feel, basically repeating the part of what he just said that I understood, but trying to say it in a way that will convince him I followed the rest as well so the idea of trying to use his superior level of knowledge to his advantage won't even enter his head.

Everyone with the exception of Cato looks at me in shock, including District 3. I'm ashamed to say that Career Tributes don't have a reputation for intelligence and I immediately realise he was relying on that. He clearly hadn't expected any of us to understand a word he said.

"Oh yes, District 3," says Cato, obviously reaching the same conclusion. "I know nothing about physics and District 1 over there knows nothing about anything, but Clove's smart as well as lethal. Make sure you don't forget that."

I can't help straightening my back and raising my head slightly in response to his public praise, which is stupid really as I know what he thinks of me without him having to announce it to the world.

"Maybe we should just leave him to get on with it. If we're going to be hunting at night then we need to sleep or we'll end up becoming the hunted instead of the hunters," suggests Glimmer, repeating her earlier suggestion.

"Unlikely," replies Cato, but he turns to Varia anyway, glaring at the girl from the fishing district. "As you let him live, I think you should have first watch so you can make sure your little friend doesn't do anything stupid."

The fact she'd clearly been looking forward to a few hours sleep shows on her face as she scowls at him but she says nothing, moving away from the rest of us to stand only a few paces from the boy from District 3, watching his progress with the mines closely.

There was a massive pile of sleeping bags in the Cornucopia, easily enough for one each for all of the tributes who entered the arena this morning, but after deciding we didn't want to sleep in the enclosed space inside the golden horn, we took one each and then spread the rest out on the ground, trying to make the cold, hard ground of the arena floor a little softer to sleep on. Not that I think I'll be getting much sleep.

After that night when I fell asleep in the television room, I finally admitted to myself that I hadn't conquered my nightmares at all, that it has only been Cato's presence that's chased them away for the past couple of years. Now the Games are forcing me to be alone once more, I'm afraid to sleep. I'm scared I'll dream again, that I'll scream out in terror and the rest of our group will hear me. However bad I am proving to be at hiding what I feel for Cato, I know I'll never allow either the other tributes or the Capitol to see that I'm able to feel fear. They've probably worked out by now that my biggest weakness is standing next to me, and for them to know that much is way more than enough already.

"Are you staying awake or am I?" whispers Cato, leaning close to me so that Glimmer, Marvel and Peeta can't hear his words.

"I'll wake you if I get too tired," I whisper back, acknowledging that this is how it will be from now on, that there will always be one of us awake just in case.

He smiles slightly and lies down, turning to face me and gripping the side of my sleeping bag in a tight fist.

I look down at his hand with a frown. "How many times do I have to tell you that I can look after myself?"

"Have I ever suggested that you can't?" he replies, still not moving as he closes his eyes and refuses to say another word.

* * *

I lie staring up at the sky a few hours later, watching the clouds blow across the sky above me and listening to the steady, regular rhythm of Cato's breathing as he lies on his sleeping bag beside me, so close and yet so very far away. He turns over in his sleep but he doesn't relinquish his grip on the edge of my sleeping bag. Even though it's still my turn for our watch, every time I've moved, however slightly, he has felt the pull on the thin Capitol-made fabric and woken up to look at me briefly as if to reassure himself that I'm still there and that nothing has changed.

A short time later I hear footsteps nearby and realise it must be time for the official watch to change. I can tell from the sound those footsteps make that it's Marvel, who unfortunately isn't one for silence, so I'm surprised when I hear nothing for at least a minute. Then the silence is abruptly broken by an enraged shout and a brief scuffle, which results in a very pathetic sounding yelp that can only have come from the boy from District 1.

"Don't you dare even think about touching me! If you so much as look at me again then I swear I'll kill you!"

I instantly recognise Glimmer's voice, angry in a way I've never heard before.

"You didn't say that to Gloss, did you Glimmer?" replies Marvel snidely, clearly put out by her reaction.

"Stupid boy," she hisses. "Just shut up. Don't talk about what you don't understand and know nothing about."

I sit up, putting my hand briefly on Cato's shoulder to tell him to go back to sleep before I silently creep across the short distance to stand a couple of feet away from Marvel. He doesn't even realise I'm there.

"Go to sleep, Marvel. If you're brave enough, that is," I say, smirking both because he visibly jumps at the sound of my voice and at the sight of the purple bruise that covers the one, extremely swollen side of his jaw. I open my jacket and make sure he can see the row of knives that line its inside before removing one and throwing it so it lands neatly in the centre of his sleeping bag with such force that the blade sinks into the ground underneath. I wait until he's scurried hastily away before calling after him.

"Bring me the knife back then."

He scowls at me but obeys, knowing the consequences if he didn't. I wait until he's climbed into his sleeping bag before returning to the fire and sitting down opposite Glimmer.

"I know what you're going to ask me," she says before I say a word. "You heard what Marvel said and you want to know if it's true."

I glance at her, seeing the pensive, thoughtful look on her perfect face, which has somehow remained completely untouched despite her spending more than a day in the arena, before turning back to look into the fire.

"The gory details of your sordid love life matter little to me, Sparkle," I reply teasingly, smiling when she narrows her eyes at me in return. "It's your business, Glimmer, not mine," I continue, seriously this time, and she nods briefly to me before looking gratefully away, relieved that I dropped the subject so easily.

Whether Gloss was more than just a mentor to her or not really doesn't concern or interest me, and anyway, I can tell by the slight change in her expression when she discusses the subject that what Marvel said was true without her having to say so.

"Do you think the boy can really do what he promised?" she asks me eventually, looking across to where he lies in one of the sleeping bags, trembling as he dreams.

"I don't know," I reply honestly. "I still hope he can't. It all seems like an unnecessary risk to me. There are enough of us to guard the supplies and hunt as well."

"If he reactivates the mines then they will be more effective than any guard."

I shrug my shoulders, deciding this is a subject we'll never agree on and that I really don't have the energy for another debate. I look across at Cato as he sleeps as soundly as he always does, hoping that if the landmines plan goes as badly as I think it will then he won't be the one who suffers.

"It will never happen anyway if he spends the whole day sleeping," she says suddenly. "Time for him to go back to work, I think."

I smile wickedly as I watch her walk over to the boy from District 3 and kick him until he wakes. He stares up at her, then his eyes flash to me and finally to the others who are still sleeping. He looks relieved to see that Cato, who clearly intimidates him most, is still asleep.

"Get up and start working," snaps Glimmer authoritatively. "We didn't keep you alive so you can get a better night's sleep than any of us while the threat of our presence protects you."

The boy crawls from his sleeping bag and staggers over to the jumble of wires and mines he'd been working on earlier this morning before Cato had finally allowed him to sleep.

I look up at the sky, eventually deciding it must be about midday. Time seems different in the arena, passing by so slowly and yet somehow never slowly enough. It could never truly be slow enough when I can never quite forget that every minute that passes is a minute closer to the end.

"My watch is over now," says Glimmer, interrupting my thoughts as she crosses back over to stand by my side.

I look up at her and notice for the first time how tired she seems. As I knew she would be, she is one of those irritating people who actually still manages to look attractive when she's probably had only a couple of hours sleep in the past two days, but even so, she still appears physically and mentally exhausted.

"It's not me next," I reply. "I should be asleep."

"It's Cato's turn," she replies. "Which is why I'm glad you're awake. You can wake him for me. He won't hurt you," she continues with a grin.

I shake my head at her. "I didn't think you were such a wimp, Sparkle."

"Just do it. Please, Clove."

I nod and she walks over to her sleeping bag, lying down and falling asleep instantly. I shake my head, wondering how she can be so trusting. I'm as tired as she is but, even putting my nightmares aside, I don't think I would sleep at all if it wasn't for Cato. I walk back over to him and touch his shoulder.

"Cato, it's your watch," I whisper.

He doesn't wake so I shake him slightly, causing an immediate reaction that I should have predicted, that I would have expected if he'd been any of the others. Not that I think any of the others would have reflexes as good as his.

Before I can react, he reaches out and grabs my wrist, pulling me down so I lie on my back looking up at him as he holds the knife I gave him to my throat. The next second he recognises me and drops the knife instantly. I expect him to move, but if anything he leans into me more, his weight crushing me just enough to make me begin to forget the arena.

"You know better than to creep up on me like that, especially in here. I could have hurt you."

"How else was I supposed to wake you?" I reply, pretending to be angry as I push him off me. "It's your watch."

I walk back over to the fire and sit down, hating how much my traitorous body still reacts to him, even in the arena where I'm trying so hard to fight what I feel. A short time later he follows me, knowing without saying anything that my anger wasn't genuine.

"Go to sleep, Clove," he commands. "You haven't slept since we got in here."

"It doesn't matter. I can't sleep. I can't relax."

"You think you'll dream again, don't you? You're worried you'll cry out in your sleep and the others will think you're weak."

"No," I reply, lying to him even though I know he'll never fall for it.

He goes back and picks up his sleeping bag before returning and throwing it to me as he sits down by the fire.

"Sleep there," he says, nodding at the patch of ground beside him. "If you talk in your sleep then I'll kick you," he continues, his voice serious although I know he wouldn't really.

"Are those mines activated yet?" I snarl when I look up to notice the boy from 3 watching us with fascination. He abruptly refocuses on his task in response to my question.

"Nearly," he says in a quiet, tremulous voice.

"Good. If the job's not done in the next three hours then we'll abandon the idea entirely. And you know what that means for you…"

"Stop tormenting him, Cato. He'll be too terrified to concentrate and he'll probably blow us all up if his hands are shaking."

"Aren't you asleep yet?"

I don't say anything more as I lie the sleeping bag on the floor beside him and curl up inside, cold despite the heat of the midday sun. He reaches out and pulls a leaf from my hair, clearly forgetting all about the cameras. That's the last thing I remember as I drift into sleep, comforted by his familiar presence.

* * *

"Clove. Clove, wake up. We have landmines."

I wake reluctantly, turning around to look up into Cato's dark-blue eyes. They seem all lit up and I know instantly it's due to the prospect of our captive's success. I sigh and make myself ask the obvious even though I already know the answer.

"He's done it?"

"Yes. All we have to do now is move the supplies."

"But…"

"Don't worry so much. Go and wake the others."

"You go," I reply sleepily, not quite ready to get up yet.

"I can't move unless you do," he says, smirking down at me.

It's then I realise that, sometime while I'd been sleeping, I'd moved so my head was resting on his thigh rather than the cold, hard ground of the arena floor and that I haven't moved since.

"I knew I shouldn't have gone to sleep. We're not doing a very good job, are we?" I say resignedly in reference to our pretence of indifference to each other as I push myself first into a sitting position and then to my feet.

"I don't care," he answers simply, before getting up and going to harass District 3.

I walk over to the others, shaking Glimmer to wake her before mirroring her earlier actions towards the boy from the factory district and violently kicking Marvel, Peeta and Varia.

By the time we've moved all of the supplies, stacking them in a huge pyramid a safe distance away from the Cornucopia and our camp, it's getting dark and the temperature seems to be dropping rapidly. Far too rapidly for it to be a natural occurrence. It looks like the Capitol's getting bored.

"Glimmer! Stay here and make sure Landmine-boy doesn't try anything stupid," shouts Cato as we prepare to set off into the forest once more.

She nods and picks up a spear that was leaning against the side of the Cornucopia, moving to stand metres from District 3 as he finishes positioning the mines around the supply pyramid.

The temperature seems to drop with every minute we spend in the woods. I'm very quickly shivering so much that I don't think I could throw straight even if I saw another tribute, which I most definitely haven't. When we first left the camp I thought I saw movement in the bushes right at the edge of the tree line, but when I went to investigate I could see no trail. There was a small area of grass and leaves that had been flattened as if someone had been sitting there but there were no tracks leading away. It was almost as if who- or whatever had been there had disappeared into thin air or simply flown away.

Although we try to keep going, knowing the other tributes must be out there somewhere, it soon becomes impossible to carry on without going back to camp to get some more supplies and to see if there are any warmer clothes. So that's what we decide to do, however when we get back to the lake to find Glimmer waiting for us by the fire, periodically prodding District 3 with the spear so he doesn't fall asleep now he's finished his task, we change our minds and give up for the night. Hopefully District 8's death and all the excitement that reactivating the mines will undoubtedly have caused will keep the Gamemakers happy until the morning.

* * *

"You were right when you said the Gamemakers looked in a sadistic mood this year," says Cato as I climb into my sleeping bag and settle down on the freezing cold floor beside him. "Half the tributes will freeze to death before we can hunt them down."

I've just finished my turn at the official watch and been relieved by Glimmer, but I hadn't needed to wake her. She's spent the past half an hour sitting lost in her thoughts on the opposite side of our small fire, shivering in her blanket. I found myself wanting to ask her what she was thinking about and quickly had to push the feeling away. That would be too much like caring, and other than one exception, I don't care for anyone.

"Listen for the cannons then. It'll be a few less for us but maybe it's better that way."

"I'll stay awake. Get some sleep," he replies, turning over so he faces away from me.

His action confuses me initially, because he's always had this thing about watching me sleep and hasn't done anything to make me think it'll be any different just because we're in the arena. but after a few seconds of shivering, I suddenly understand. I take the hint and shuffle closer to him, pressing my body into his and wishing the nation wasn't watching so he could turn back and take me in his arms properly. I feel warmer almost immediately though, however cold he claims to be, and I soon stop shivering, laughing softly when he complains that my breath is cold on the back of his neck.

It might be his turn for our watch but I can't sleep. The combination of the ever decreasing temperature and my sudden proximity to Cato, which brings back everything the chaos of the arena has forced me to push to the back of my mind, keeps me awake for the entire duration of Glimmer's watch. I hear her wake Varia, none too gently if the girl from District 4's resulting curse is anything to go by, and then walk over to the pile of sleeping bags I lie in the midst of.

I'm more than slightly surprised when she drops to the floor right beside me and then pushes against me so we lie tightly back to back. I lean up and turn around to see the back of her golden blonde head millimetres from mine, her hair shining in the dim light of the fire.

"I didn't know you cared, Sparkle," I whisper dryly.

"Shut it, Soldier-girl," she whispers back fiercely. "I'm just cold. And unlike you, my only other options are Marvel, Lover Boy or Varia."

I can't help laughing, especially when I feel Cato shake slightly as he silently laughs too, clearly listening to us.

"I don't know whether to be offended by that or not," I reply, but then I lie back down and pull my sleeping bag up higher. I don't want to complain too much when I'm sensible enough to realise that I'm probably the warmest and most comfortable tribute in the arena right now.

For once I sleep peacefully and I don't wake until it's almost dark and time for us to start thinking about going hunting again.


	12. Chapter 12

**I got there with this eventually - thanks to be-nice-to-nerds for your help (;)) and to anyone who reviewed anonymously who I obviously can't reply to, especially Kesoliai :) I can't believe I'm nearly up to review number 100!**

Chapter Twelve

"I can't believe this," whines Varia after only about an hour has passed since we left camp. "The first time I'm not on watch and I finally get to hunt when it isn't too cold to move and there aren't any tributes."

"What do you expect?" I ask roughly. "Do you think they'll come looking for you so they can ask you to kill them? Go back to the lake if you're bored."

She glares at me but doesn't reply, walking along dragging her feet and muttering to herself like a small child having a tantrum. I treat her with the contempt she deserves by abruptly turning my back on her and heading through the trees once more.

Suddenly the appearance of the Capitol seal lights up the sky as the anthem plays, before it abruptly disappears without showing any pictures of deceased tributes. No deaths today. That's not good. The audience will be getting bored, which will make the Gamemakers worried and restless. Worried and restless Gamemakers tend to do what they can to make the events in the arena more exciting for the viewers, and the consequences of that can never be good for us.

"No deaths today," says Marvel, stating the obvious in a very disappointed tone of voice.

"Where would we be without you, District 1? We would have been struggling to work that out for hours if you hadn't said anything."

I smile at Cato's sarcastic comment before walking ahead of the group, creeping along in the hope of sneaking up on anyone who might be there without the noise of my fellow hunters alerting them to our presence. Despite my earlier lecture, during which I even went as far as attempting to teach some of the others how to move silently through the trees, they are all making as much of a racket as ever.

I walk into a clearing that seems a lot bigger than most of the others I have seen, and I scan the area for signs of the other survivors, not really expecting to find anything. Therefore I am not surprised when there is nothing that I can see to indicate that I'm not the first tribute to set foot here.

I get no warning other than a small flash of light that looks like someone striking a match before I hear a deafeningly loud explosion as I am blown off my feet and catapulted back across to the opposite tree line, landing heavily on my back. There is a sickening crack as my shoulder connects with one of the many huge exposed tree roots and I suddenly find myself gasping for the breath that has been knocked so violently from me.

Every time I breathe, a stabbing pain shoots from my shoulder to fill my entire body, and I have to concentrate hard to make myself block it out as I strain to fill my lungs with air. As I lie unmoving on the ground, I can hear the voices of most of my mentors as they shout at me inside my head, telling me that to give in to pain is to show despicable weakness, and that if I am so willing to openly show how much I hurt then I am unworthy of wearing the metal token that even now rests in it's familiar position around my neck. After all of the effort I have gone to over the years to prove myself worthy of their attention, I am determined not to give in now, at least not for a bruised shoulder anyway, however painful it might be.

However all thoughts of the pain abruptly vanish as I recover enough to dazedly look up, which is when I see that, metres away from where I had previously been standing, there is a massive wall of fire that seems to reach higher than the sky. Flames leap away from the main wall to engulf trees and bushes as it travels, but there is something unnatural about it, something that tells me this isn't a campfire lit by a cold tribute that has got out of control. 'No deaths today.' I hear Marvel's words repeat over and over again in my head as I watch the fire move steadily towards me, guessing instantly that this must be the Gamemakers' solution to solving the problem of a bored audience. The flames are strangely hypnotising, and I find myself suddenly unable to look away even as they get closer and closer to where I lie with each second that passes.

"Clove!"

I hear a hint of panic in Cato's voice that I have never heard before, and it is that which shakes me out of my mental paralysis just as he crashes into the clearing, still calling my name even when he sees me. The smoke is starting to obscure the lenses of my night-vision glasses so I pull them off and push them into my jacket. It's not like I need them to see, as the light from the fire is as bright as a thousand flaming torches.

"Don't ever do that to me again!" he roars over the thunderous sound of the blaze that is still heading directly towards us, now close enough for the heat it radiates to burn the exposed skin of my face and hands. He drags me off the ground and half carries me in the opposite direction until I find my feet again.

"You're not supposed to rescue me, you know. I don't think that's the way the game is supposed to work."

My only reward for making the effort to get my words out as we run is a mouthful of smoke and a look that tells me in no uncertain terms that this isn't the time to joke about such things.

We race side by side, with Cato lifting me and carrying me for a few strides several times when I'm simply unable to keep up with him as the fire seems to get closer and closer and the air gets thicker with smoke every second. We head in what I think is the direction of the lake, and soon I hear more than just mine and Cato's feet connecting rapidly with the solid ground of the arena floor as we run for our lives. We must have caught up with the rest of the Alliance because when I strain to focus ahead of myself I can just about hear them shouting as best as they can to each other through the suffocating, blinding smoke.

We sprint through the trees for what feels like an eternity, all the time trying to reach the lake but never seeming to get there. The smoke clouds my mind and my chest feels so tight that I can't breathe properly. Every time that we change direction to escape the fire it reappears to block our path as though it is everywhere, surrounding us so that there is no escape. Either I am going mad or the Gamemakers are sitting in their control room, reacting to our movements in a carefully orchestrated part of their elaborate game, ensuring that we go exactly where they want us to.

The gaps between the bushes and trees appear smaller than they did earlier, and many times I stumble over rocks or roots, crashing to the floor under a rain of burning leaves and branches only for Cato to lift me up and set me back on my feet every time as he shouts at me to keep running. It is worse for me when he falls than when I do, for I cannot lift him up like he does me. All I can do is push ineffectively against him as I desperately hope that he is uninjured and can get up again.

"Cato! Move! Don't look back, just run!" I scream hoarsely when he falls again and doesn't immediately get up.

He tears his gaze away from the still advancing wall of fire, holding my arm as he stands and starts running once more. As I watch him I see that he is definitely not able to run as quickly now, and it is that distraction that prevents me from seeing the tree root until it's too late.

I crash to the ground, listening to somebody cry out with pain, only to realise as I push the burning branch from my already injured shoulder that the person who made that awful sound was me. I see Cato turn back, ignoring my words when I scream at him to leave me as I knew he would, but before he reaches me I am dragged roughly to my feet by someone who clearly finds lifting me a lot more of an effort than my lover does. I turn to see Glimmer, with her face blackened by the smoke and a cut across her cheekbone which somehow makes her even more beautiful even as it mars her perfection, and I don't know how to react. I don't know what to say to her even though I inexplicably feel that I should say something. It takes me a couple of attempts to speak and my voice is alarmingly raspy when I do, but eventually I ask her the single question that fills my whole mind.

"Why?"

"If you think I'm letting you die without having the last word in our ongoing argument then you've got another thing coming, Soldier-girl," she replies, and in the light of the fire I clearly see the almost feral smile that appears on her face just as Cato pushes me out of the way of yet another falling branch and I lose sight of her.

***

The pale light of dawn shows clearly in the sky by the time we finally get ahead of the fire, which can only have been a Gamemaker creation as it has vanished totally, leaving only the thick smoke behind. We haven't managed to reach the lake and are still in the woods, staggering into a clearing before sinking to the floor in exhaustion, bent over as we try to cough the smoke from our lungs.

I look around to see that everyone is here, fighting back a wave of disappointment when I see that Marvel, Peeta and Varia have all survived.

"We need to go back to the Cornucopia," I say, my voice still raspy and quiet. "The air will be better there and those burns need cleaning or they'll get infected," I continue as I look at the deep burn on Cato's neck, shivering when I realise how frighteningly close to his throat it actually is.

"I didn't know you cared," says Marvel, who I now notice also has a nasty looking burn across his shoulder and collar bone.

"If infection kills you then it will deny me the pleasure of making them sound your cannon," I reply, "and I won't allow that to happen after I've been looking forward to killing you so much for so long."

"Let's go, Clove," says Cato, getting to his feet before pulling me up. "The audience has had enough excitement for one day," he continues, giving me a pointed look that tells me to save putting an end to Marvel until later, when his death will have more of an impact on the viewers in the Capitol.

I nod and follow him as we lead our small group through the trees again, not really knowing where we're going now that we have been so disorientated by our flight from the fire.

"Look," whispers Glimmer after a few minutes have passed, speaking in a voice I can barely hear despite how she is walking in her now customary place at my left side.

I follow her gaze through the trees and see that the ground drops down into a small valley which has a pool of water in the middle of it. Next to that pool sits a dark-haired girl with a bright orange bag, completely unaware of our presence.

"It looks like we've found your girlfriend, Lover Boy," says Cato, keeping his voice as quiet as Glimmer did hers.

I am about to suggest that we try to get closer without revealing our presence when Marvel suddenly charges forwards, crashing through the trees and making more noise than twenty people. All I can think as I have no choice but to join the others and follow him before Katniss escapes from us is that I am going to kill that boy. He is going to be the one that I make an example of, he is going to be the one whose death the Capitol remembers for a hundred years.

We don't have to chase her for long. She looks as beaten up by the fire as we do and clearly hasn't got the strength to keep running. As we run towards her we watch as she climbs into a tall tree, stopping several metres up to look down on us. She looks exhausted and frightened, but she is obviously trying to hide both and does a considerably better job than her district partner, who looks distinctly worried by the fact that we have her cornered with no escape.

"How's everything with you?" she calls down to us with a smile, and I scowl up at her, annoyed that she has the nerve.

"Well enough," replies Cato, his tone conversational but his body language revealing his true feelings. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," she says. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

"Think I will."

I glance quickly from Cato to the tree, which might be tall but doesn't look all that strong and makes me wonder if it will take his weight. I am tempted to go myself instead but at the same time realise that he has to do this for himself. If we have time to choose, he kills her and I kill Marvel and Peeta, that's the deal and I have no intention of going back on my word.

I watch in silence as he approaches the tree and looks up at Katniss, who seems to be paying more attention to Peeta than she is to the man who intends to end her life. She stares at the boy who purports to be her lover intently, however it is not love and longing that I see in her eyes but anger and hate.

"Here, take this, Cato," says Glimmer, stepping forwards and offering him her silver bow and arrows.

"No. I'll do better with my sword," he replies and I am not surprised. I have only ever seen him shoot a bow once and I quickly worked out that if someone had forced me to stand on the archery range at the time then I would have considered directly in front of the target he was firing at to be the safest place to stand, something which I teased him mercilessly about for weeks afterwards despite not being much better at it myself.

He reaches up above his head for the sturdiest looking branch he can see and pulls himself easily into the tree just as Katniss starts climbing even higher. I watch their progress in silence along with the rest of the group, suddenly releasing a breath that I didn't know I was holding when there is a loud crack of a breaking branch and Cato crashes to the floor, much to the amusement of Katniss, who remains in the tree, about twice as high up as she was before. That girl is going to die tonight. How dare she laugh at us?

Despite my anger at Katniss, I can't help smiling when the whole of Panem receives an impromptu lesson in the very worst language of the slums of District 2 as Cato jumps to his feet and looks murderously back into the tree at the girl, who still appears to be holding back barely suppressed laughter. Years in the Training Centre have forcibly refined him slightly and I haven't heard him talk like that for years, not outside of the Arena anyway. I feel a painful longing for my old life as I am suddenly reminded of the boy I met five years ago, the boy who had laughed at me and called me the pampered daughter of one of the Capitol's favourite pets as we fought a battle that neither would concede.

"She's annoying me now," says Glimmer loudly enough for Katniss to hear.

"Stay in the middle of the tree where the branches are thicker," I say, knowing that she has decided to see if she can do a better job than Cato. "I don't think your sponsors would appreciate seeing you fall out of a tree, Glimmer. You might ruin your hair.

"I'm not totally stupid, Clove," she replies with a sarcastic smile, choosing to ignore me for now but no doubt storing up every insult she can think of for later use.

"Only almost totally," I retort, earning myself a glare in return.

She walks past Cato and begins to climb the tree, getting about twice as far as he did before she has the sense to stop when the branches begin to bend alarmingly in protest at having to bear her weight. Determined not to give in so easily, she pulls the bow from her shoulder and sends an arrow at Katniss, who is now higher up the tree than I would have thought possible. I groan when the arrow misses its target by metres.

"So now it's obvious that she was carrying that bow as a fashion accessory, what do we do now?" Cato asks me quietly so that the other three don't hear.

I don't reply for a minute, watching as Glimmer shoots three more arrows at Katniss, getting closer with every attempt but never quite close enough. I look away in annoyance when the girl from District 12 pulls one of the arrows from where it is stuck in the tree below her and waves it mockingly above my ally's head. She is laughing at us, and if she is laughing at us then the rest of Panem will be too.

"District 1, come down," commands Cato, and we wait for Glimmer to comply before gathering in a circle at the base of the tree.

I stand with Cato on my one side and Glimmer on the other, listening to them quietly but angrily describing countless long and painful methods that they could use to put an end to Katniss when they finally catch her while I watch Peeta turn slowly green.

For the first time I begin to consider that there may be some element of truth behind District 12's performance at the interviews, on his part anyway if not hers, and my lips curl into a smile as I look up at Cato. He returns my smile with a smirk that tells me he knows exactly what I'm thinking. Unable to resist adding to the boy's torment, I tug sharply on the bow that once more rests on Glimmer's shoulder.

"Maybe I could have that," I say, loudly enough for Katniss to hear this time. "I can't shoot either but if we catch her then I'm sure I can find a use for the arrows without needing the bow."

All four of my allies laugh at that as I look up into the tree to emphasise my point.

"You always had more imagination than me, my Clove, in that respect at least," says Cato, looking down at me.

He only realises the slip of his tongue when I narrow my eyes at him and look nervously around at the others, expecting even the flimsy pretence that we have maintained to now have been shattered. I sigh with relief when I quickly notice that Varia and Marvel have moved on to discussing further ways to torment Katniss, concerned only with hate rather than love, and that Peeta also seems focussed solely on his district partner, who is now stubbornly refusing to look at him at all. I turn to look at Glimmer to find her smirking at me but I smile back at her with mock sweetness, knowing that she's had Cato and I all worked out since before the first day of training anyway.

I look up at the sky and see that it is starting to get dark. If we're going to do something we will need to do it quickly, and I have a horrible suspicion that I know exactly what that means.

"I suppose you're going to send me up that tree now, aren't you?" I ask, reluctantly accepting that as I am the lightest of our group by a considerable margin, it will be my job to attempt to reach our target for the third time.

I am surprised when Cato looks back at me and shakes his head. "Can't you just put a knife in her from here?"

I look up and back again, judging the angle and the distance. "I could, but she'd probably die up there not down here."

"Where's the entertainment in that?" interrupts Varia before Cato can respond.

Peeta abruptly takes a step forwards, looking at Varia with what I suspect passes as a glare from him, and despite the venom not being there in his face, his emotion is clear enough. "Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

***

We settle down at the foot of the tree, surrounding it so that Katniss can't escape, trying to use the heat from our torches to warm ourselves in the freezing temperatures. I'm shivering but I don't care how cold I am. She has escaped me once and I won't allow it again. Katniss Everdeen will regret the day she blushed prettily for the cameras as her district partner declared his undying love for her.

I lie awake for what I judge to be about three hours, staring up at the tree that holds my enemy and keeps her safe from my wrath as I wait for my watch to be over before I wake Cato. I can't help thinking that even if I kill her, I will not have improved my situation very much, for there can still only be one winner, but at least I will be able to say that it won't be her.

I look to the side as Glimmer tosses and turns violently in her sleep beside me, frowning at someone or something in her dreams, whispering words so quiet that I can't make them out.

"Glimmer, wake up," I whisper, knowing how much I would hate the others to see me like that if I was in her position and at the same time wondering what it is that haunts her dreams so fiercely.

I lean over to shake her and she grabs my wrist, pushing me away but then immediately reaching out again to pull my hand back. I don't know what to do in response to the look of pain on her face as her nightmare continues, so I settle for awkwardly brushing her golden hair back and away from her tightly closed eyes. I'm not used to this. This is too much like friendship for me to bear, especially in a place like this, so I am more relieved than I can say when she eventually settles, tucking her knees up to her chest as she lies cocooned tightly in her sleeping bag, the frown never quite fading.

I lean over to my other side to tap Cato's shoulder after checking to see that Varia is looking the other way. She doesn't know about our extra watches and it wouldn't do for her to know that we don't trust her. He wakes instantly this time and turns to face me so he has his back to the others, shielding me entirely from their view so that they can't see us having yet another whispered conversation.

"This ends tomorrow," I breathe. "Varia, Marvel and Lover Boy. They all die."

"And the Girl on Fire escapes in the chaos? I don't think so."

"She won't if we kill her first. I'll put a knife in her and she won't be going anywhere."

"What about her?" he asks, gesturing with his eyes to Glimmer's sleeping form.

I follow the direction of his gaze even though I already know without looking who it is that he means. I try to imagine myself killing the girl whose presence I have gradually become accustomed to since training began in the Capitol and I find to my surprise that I can't. At least not in the way that I have always imagined myself disposing of the others. If it got to the point where it was a choice between her and Cato then I know that I could still kill her in a heartbeat, but right now I don't have to make that choice. Not to mention the fact that her presence, along with that of the others, allows me to deny reality for a little longer. When they are with us it is harder to imagine the arrival of the time where Cato and I are the last ones left standing.

"That depends on her. But she gets the chance to walk away. If she doesn't take it then she dies with the rest, but she won't receive a slow and painful death at my hand, nor yours," I answer eventually, feeling both surprised and slightly horrified by my reaction to his simple question, a question that would have had a very different and much simpler answer just a couple of short weeks ago.

He smiles, evidently amused by something but I have no idea what. I want to reach out and shake him or hit him like I normally would in response to the expression on his face, refusing to let him get away with not telling me exactly what is so funny, and I could scream with frustration because I can't.

"What?" I hiss, glaring at him but still not allowing myself to move in case the others notice that we are not as asleep as they think we are.

"Someone's finally won the respect of the great Clove Jacia. I never thought I'd see it," he replies, his amused expression unchanging.

"As said by the man who respects so many people," I answer sarcastically, pouting and pretending to sulk.

"Go to sleep, Clove. We're going to have a busy day tomorrow," he says as he turns to lie on his back, confirming his agreement with my plan with his words.

***

The next thing I know I am literally on my feet before I have woken up, opening my eyes in response to Cato dragging me roughly from my sleeping bag and pushing me forwards, away from the chaos that suddenly surrounds us.

"Clove, run! Now!"

All I can hear is the screams of the others over a constant background buzzing that seems to get louder and louder by the second as I struggle to do as he says. I feel a sudden pain in my leg and it is then that I realise what I'm seeing. Tracker jackers. Poisonous genetically modified wasps that were one of the Capitol's many deadly weapons that it developed to subdue the rebellion nearly seventy-five years ago, this time used as an equally lethal weapon on a much smaller scale in the arena.

Cato continues to push me in front of him as we attempt to flee the clearing as the insects follow us, living up to the 'tracker' part of their name by continuing to sting us even as we run. She did this. Katniss. It can only have been her, and yet I have no idea how she could have dropped the nest on us without being stung to death herself. Despite being as trapped as she was, she doesn't seem the suicidal type to me, which means that she must have done something to break the trail that would lead the wasps to her. But what did she do? Running like this isn't going to get us far. We can only keep going for so long, then when we are finally exhausted we will still be at the mercy of the tracker jackers, and everyone in Panem knows that all it takes is one sting too many for it to be all over.

"To the lake! To the lake!" I shout as it occurs to me that finding water is the only way to escape.

I try to step out of Cato's way, knowing that he is faster than me and should be racing ahead, but he pushes me forwards once more, taking a lot of the stings for me as we crash through the trees.

"Don't be stupid," I call to him. "Go ahead of me!"

"For once in your life, Clove, just do as I tell you! Keep running!" is the only response that I get, and I quickly resign myself to the fact that continuing to protest is only going to make the situation worse.

I hadn't realised how close we were to the lake until the Cornucopia appears before me through the trees and I see the water just beyond it, the dawn light reflecting off its surface as it ripples in the breeze. I focus intently on the water, ignoring the repeated stabbing pains as the tracker jackers continue their assault on us even as we sprint away.

I stumble, flying forwards only to be saved by Cato grabbing the back of my jacket and pulling me upright again.

"Don't you dare fall," he growls as he pushes me even faster.

We throw ourselves into the lake without hesitation, closely followed by Peeta and Marvel, and all four of us dive under the water, knowing that it is the only way to break the trail and rid ourselves of the threat of the deadly insects.

The pain from the stings seems to be eased by the freezing water, and as I recover enough to see what the others are doing, I watch Marvel struggling to stay afloat, feeling a sudden rush of gratitude towards Cato as I remember how he forced me to let him teach me how to swim.

"What are you doing?!" I shout as I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder and turn in time to see Cato pull his hand quickly away.

"You have to take the stings out. They heal quicker if you do," he says as he pulls another one from my arm.

"Then you should start with yourself before inflicting the pain on me," I reply, reaching over to his shoulder and yanking the nearest sting from his skin. He instinctively slaps my hand away.

"Don't," he whines.

I stare at him in disbelief. "I've watched you take twenty lashes without making a sound, and I've lost count of how many times I've patched you up when you've come to me straight from the Arena. Don't be such a baby," I reply flatly, finding once again that the amount I care about how much we reveal to the Gamemakers and the viewing public about the true nature of our relationship decreases in direct proportion to the increase in the danger we face.

"But that hurts," he continues and we both laugh, a strange response considering the situation perhaps but one that feels right nevertheless.

Then my good humour rapidly fades as I look around to notice that something, or should I say someone, is missing. I turn to look behind me and see nothing but the still water of the lake.

"Where's Glimmer?"

Cato shrugs his shoulders as my eyes meet his for an instant before a movement I see in the corner of my eye draws my attention. Varia lurches onto the plain, and it is obvious that she isn't as lucky as Cato and I and the two others who reached the lake. She is reacting badly to the venom, as some people do, and I can tell immediately that she isn't going to make it. She falls to the ground seconds later, her body racked with violent convulsions, and soon after, her cannon sounds. I feel nothing.

"One less," I hear Cato whisper in my ear as he moves to stand behind me, able to keep his feet on the floor of the lake in a way that I am not.

"So where's-"

I don't finish my question as I flinch when a second cannon sounds, suddenly a lot louder than they have ever been before. The shock makes me forget to keep swimming and I sink under the water, which sparkles strangely and makes me feel like I am drowning in a sea of diamonds. I touch the bottom of the lake before pushing myself back up, feeling grateful that we didn't go too far away from the shore as I reach the surface and gasp for breath.

"Cato, why is everything spinning?" I ask in a feeble voice that doesn't sound like my own.

I turn to look at him when I don't get a response and see a face that is a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. When I reach up to touch his arm, wondering why everything is starting to look so blurred and hazy, he looks briefly at me before taking a deep breath and starting to walk determinedly towards the shore of the lake.

"Nobody else made it. The tracker jackers have gone so now she will pay. She won't have got far."

"Cato!" I call after him as he runs out of the water and heads in the direction of the woods. "Come back here now! She can wait! Do you want to die?"

He doesn't look back, and as I see Peeta throw himself from the water to chase after him, I realise that I have no choice but to follow.

The Capitol certainly achieved the effect that they desired when they created the tracker jackers, for as I leave the water after submerging myself one last time, the pain that travels through my entire body seems to intensify so it is at least a hundred times worse than it was before. I force myself to ignore it, pushing it to one side as I have had to do all my life, thinking only of Cato and his single-minded determination to get to Katniss as I push myself in the direction of the trees.

As I try to run, I soon realise that my body simply won't obey me like it usually does. I feel wobbly and unsteady on my feet and it is like everything, from the trees to the sky to the very ground that I stand upon, is spinning around and around so quickly that everything is a blur. I make it to the first tree before I turn cold as I remember that excruciating pain isn't the only side effect of tracker jacker venom. I have had that many stings that it is only a matter of time before I pass out, not into the peaceful oblivion of unconsciousness but into the worst nightmares that my mind can imagine. They say that even those who are truly righteous or innocent, those who have done and seen very little that could trouble their unconscious mind, see the most terrible things if they are lucky enough to survive the poison, and I know that I am neither righteous nor innocent. I shiver at the thought of all of the things I have seen, knowing the horror my dreams are certain to bring.

I stumble through the foliage, feeling strangely like I remember feeling when I had drank too much of the wine that I was given by those who had watched me fight on my fifteenth birthday, back when I was too young and naïve to know better, only this time I am in considerably more pain. I ignore the branches that pull on my clothes and scratch my face and hands, stopping only when I hear raised voices and the clash of swords just ahead of me. Of the tracker jackers, there is fortunately no sign.

"I should have known you were working together," I hear Cato say, his voice low and dangerous. "You will regret crossing us, boy. You will beg me to kill you before the end."

"I don't care," replies a much higher and slightly shaky voice. "She got away, that is all that matters to me."

Cato laughs harshly. "Not for long, Lover Boy. She won't be that hard to track down. We will find her and your sacrifice will be for nothing."

"Never for nothing. You fight and kill for fun, for power and glory. I fight for love so my sacrifice will never be for nothing. Not that you would understand that."

I force myself to stand up straight once more, unable to believe how stupid the boy can be even as I also understand that he would have no way of knowing that his words will have the same effect as holding a match to a paraffin lamp, how he couldn't have said anything that is certain to ignite Cato's temper more.

I approach the edge of the clearing just in time to see Peeta launch himself at Cato in a desperate attempt to defend himself by attacking first, only for my lover to side-step easily away from him and sink his blade into the boy's leg, causing him to cry out in pain.

"You don't know the first thing about me," snarls Cato to the boy who now kneels at his feet, clutching his leg in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. "Power? Glory? Nothing!"

He spits out the words as though they are what poisons him rather than the tracker jacker stings, looking as angry as I have ever seen him but in a different way. This isn't hot-headed temper, this is genuine, considered fury, all directed at the boy from District 12 who offended him so greatly with a few small words. Cato allows very few people to claim that they know anything about him, and I have seen braver and stronger men than Peeta fall to their knees in the face of his rage. At least the boy has the sense to remain silent.

"You will never know what I fight for, but know that the reason I fight means everything to me, more than your Girl-on-Fire will ever mean to you."

His eyes connect with mine as he speaks and despite my intention to join in the torment of the boy from 12, I suddenly can't find words, so instead I step forwards to stand by his side, shakily drawing a knife from my jacket. I look from Cato to Peeta and back again, noticing that none of us look like we will hold out against the venom for much longer.

"No mercy," I say as I look at Cato, struggling to focus on his face as everything around me starts spinning once more. "Not after what he's done to us."

"The wound will kill him anyway," he replies, entwining his fingers around my wrist when he sees me shaking. "A lot more painfully than your knife in his heart."

"If you live then we will find you, and when we do you will wish you had died today," I say coldly as I turn to face Peeta, horrified by how shaky my own voice sounds as the pain from the stings and the effects of the venom threaten to overwhelm me. I look away from the boy from the coal district when he suddenly appears to be covered in flashing lights that make my head spin even more. It looks like the hallucinations are getting worse. It won't be long now.

I look back to watch Peeta slowly hobble away into the undergrowth in the opposite direction to the lake, shaking my head violently in an attempt to make the leaves return to their usual greens and browns rather than the luminous colours which bear a shocking resemblance to the contents of Selene's wardrobe that I am seeing now. It doesn't work, and they remain fluorescent, revolving slowly in a way that makes my head spin.

Maybe I should have finished Peeta. The Clove who thought she would be going to the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games would have done, but I don't have that luxury. There are only eight others left. I am running out of ways for us to make ourselves memorable enough for them to spare our lives and, a futile hope it might be, but I am not quite ready to let it go.

A wave of nausea passes over meand I fall to my knees at Cato's feet in a strange involuntary imitation of the boy who we have most likely sentenced to the slowest and most painful death of the Games so far, trying to fight the effects of the venom even though I know that I won't last much longer.

"Kneeling in my presence isn't actually necessary," says Cato, and despite the wide range of increasingly vulgar comebacks that I can think of to that, I find that I simply haven't got the strength to speak. "You must be bad if you can't answer back," he continues, reaching down to lift me up, looking closely at me even though he looks more than slightly unsteady himself. He shakes his head. "It's the poison. It's bound to affect you more quickly, little girl," he teases.

"You're not exactly unaffected yourself," I reply, closing my eyes in a useless attempt to block out the hallucinations as he holds me close to him, shielding me with his arms as he stumbles through the trees, quickly losing his strength and coordination.

So much for indifference and putting our past behind us. He could have killed me a hundred times by now, just as I could have killed him and yet here we are, still alive and still together, destined in a few short minutes to become as vulnerable as a pair of untrained twelve-year-olds.

"Go to the Cornucopia," I whisper, knowing that there isn't time for us to conceal ourselves any better. "To the side so we can't be seen from the woods."

He nods grimly and I can tell that he has just realised what the potential implications of passing out and being totally unconscious in the middle of the Hunger Games arena really are.

"Most of them with the will to fight were stung too," I say shakily. "The others probably won't even know what happened and even if they come this way, we will probably be awake again by the time they summon up the courage to investigate the Cornucopia."

He pulls me closer and the last thing I'm aware of is him kissing the top of my head as I slip into oblivion. My last thought is to wonder how we could have been stupid enough to believe for a second that hiding the love that we have felt for each other for so long was a viable option.


	13. Chapter 13

**The next chapter ready the day before Christmas - I am surprised...not the chapter I wanted it to be though, as I wanted to be as far as 14 now so I could post fluff for Christmas. I just can't write quickly enough.**

**I try not to do long author's notes but I will make an exception so I can thank rainlite, Sister to the Wolf, Kesolai and anyone else who has reviewed anything else I have written without a sign-in - your reviews mean so much to me :) Sister to the Wolf - the title is a song but not Jordin Sparks (although that does kind of fit now you mention it).**

**I apologise in advance for the start of this chapter - it takes a better writer than me to write such a scene properly...so I will just say Merry Christmas to everyone reading :)**

Chapter Thirteen

_I resist with all of my strength, struggling violently against the man who is determined to return me to the same place where he held me prisoner four years previously, back when I was still called a child despite all that I had seen, but he is too strong, and for some reason that I cannot quite recall, most of my strength has gone. He forces me through the trapdoor and slams it shut with frightening finality, plunging me into total darkness._

_I scream and shout until I lose my voice and can scream no more, clawing at the damp walls of my cell until my fingernails split and my hands are wet with blood that I cannot see. There is no light here, not even when the unbearable heat tells me that it must be midday at the height of an oppressively hot District 2 summer. _

_By the time I have exhausted my considerable range of threats and insults, I can tell by the drop in temperature that it must be getting dark outside, and it is only slightly later when the blood on my hands is joined by the wetness of my tears as I realise there is no way out this time. I have spent my entire life walking a tightrope and my luck has finally run out._

_It was my curiosity that got me into this mess. It was always my decision to spy on Vikus and the others, to attempt to find out exactly what they were planning before we were even in a position to do anything about it, before either of us had even been to the Capitol and returned as people rather than numbers on a sheet of paper which mean little to anyone but ourselves. There is something happening here, something major, and despite how I don't know exactly what it is, the fact that I am in the position I'm in tells me that I know far too much. _

_As ever he had stayed by my side, even when he had the opportunity to walk away, even knowing that to stay would most likely quite literally be the death of him. 'I will never leave you,' he had said, but they have forced him to leave me now, and even as I call his name over and over again into the darkness in little more than a whisper, I know that he can't save me this time._

_Imagining what they could be doing to him gives me the strength to struggle once more, and I push against the trapdoor, gasping with shock when it falls forwards, sending me crashing into the damp, dingy cellar that lies beyond. For a split second I think that I have escaped, but when I feel a hand clamp down on the back of my neck, strong fingers digging painfully into the side of my throat, I know that I was a fool to imagine it could be so._

"_Thinking you made the wrong decision now, Jacia?" Vikus whispers cruelly in my ear as he drags me from the cellar and along a narrow underground corridor which is illuminated only by a couple of torches, one on either side of an ancient-looking stone door. "Your father was too inquisitive for his own good and it looks like that's one of his many faults you've inherited." _

_He yanks the stone door open with shocking ease and throws me inside the small, dark room with enough force to send me flying into the opposite wall. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood as my shoulder connects with the stone to produce a loud crack. It is the only way I can hold back the cry of pain that I know he is desperate to hear._

_I pull myself to my feet, determined to stand tall and look him in the eye, only to find that he is no longer alone. Enobaria stands next to him, a small figure, only slightly taller and heavier than I, but with a madness in her eyes that I know I could never possess, not even at the height of a battle in the Arena._

"_Do you think she will beg us for mercy?" she says in a mocking voice that is deliberately pitched so that I have to strain to hear her._

"_Me beg you? It will never happen," I snarl back immediately, feeling a surge of vicious hatred for the woman who forced me to become a killer at only thirteen years old._

"_Such defiance," she continues, her mocking tone unchanged. "We'll see how long it lasts. Especially when it isn't just you suffering."_

_She flicks a light switch behind her and the room suddenly becomes unbearably bright, so bright that, accustomed to the darkness as I am, I can't see. I jump as unseen hands roughly grab my arms and force them behind my back, pushing me to the centre of the room as the door opens once again to reveal three more people, two of them restraining the one in the middle, who is fighting for his release like a man possessed._

"_Cato!"_

_I scream his name and my voice echoes around the tiny room like I had shouted a thousand times. He instantly stops struggling and looks across at me. One of his eyes is swollen shut where he has been beaten but the other shines as brightly as it ever did, the familiar dark-blue seeming all the more vivid in our bleak surroundings. I didn't think it possible but he fights his captors even more fiercely when he finally looks away from me, and I take advantage of the distraction he provides to break free of mine, knowing that I will never escape the room so racing over to him instead, clinging to him despite the pain that my actions cause us both, ignoring the increasingly violent attempts to pull us apart. _

"_Stop!" commands Vikus, and those attempts cease immediately, his minions obeying his every word as usual.._

_Cato pulls me off him and steps in front of me, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind so that I can see nothing but the scars on his back, which show through the tears in his shirt as he shields me entirely, backing me against the wall when the door opens for the third time._

"_You," he hisses, and I have never heard such venom in his voice._

"_You didn't think I'd miss this, did you? Nothing but an orphaned son of a street whore and yet you've always thought yourself better than me. I have waited for the day that I would see you fall and now it is finally here, and so much sooner than I could ever have hoped for."_

_I recognise Augustus's voice immediately even though I can't see him, and my blood turns instantly to ice._

_Cato ignores him and turns back to Vikus and Enobaria. "You want to punish someone, I know that. I have lived here for long enough to know that that is the only thing that gives you pleasure, but let her go. She saw very little and understands even less, and what she does know she will always keep secret. You only need one of us and what happened was always my idea. She's just a stupid little girl who thought I would love her forever if she stood by my side. She doesn't know anything. Let her go."_

"_He's lying," I shout, my voice strangled as he pushes back, driving me into the wall in an attempt to silence me that I am determined won't succeed. I can see what he's doing and I will never let him die for me._

_Enobaria and Vikus both laugh, knowing that I speak the truth, and as Cato pulls me around to his side, I see Augustus step forwards, standing with his face millimetres from Cato's as if daring him to fight back._

"_I don't think you really understand how this works. There is no one or the other, only first and second. And if I kill you first then I don't get to see the pain in your eyes when I take what you have always possessed and I have always wanted."_

_Both Cato and I find ourselves restrained once more as we simultaneously launch ourselves at Augustus, and I have never in my life felt such rage and fear as I watch him standing there, laughing even as he wipes the blood from the four gashes on the side of his face that my nails left him. He walks slowly towards me and I can't take my eyes from him. I am totally powerless. Unable to fight back for the first time in my life, unable to run, which is something that I never imagined having to consider doing but would willing sacrifice my pride to do now, unable to take my own life, which I know I would do if it was the only option available to me other than the fate that awaits me._

"_Clove," whispers Cato, and it is the total defeat in his voice, the realisation that he is as powerless as I am and that this time he cannot save me, that makes me break down inside, closing my eyes so that I can't see Augustus, who stands inches from me, holding a dagger with a bejewelled hilt that I recognise instantly as being my father's, the dagger that I had later given to Cato._

"_You know he's only still alive so I can watch him break when I break you," he whispers. "He won't live much longer but it will be long enough."_

_I look at the dagger again and see that the blade is not silver but dark red, and when I look down at my filthy tunic the first thing I see is a circle of blood that I know isn't mine. My knees give way and I hang lifelessly, supported only by the man who restrains me, overcome with grief at the realisation that the only person I have ever loved will die and that nothing I do will change that. Even if I could do something, by now it would be too late._

"_Cato…" I breathe softly, even as Augustus drags me away._

"_Be strong for me, Clove," he says, and for the first time I notice how his voice shakes because of more than just the beating. "Don't let him defeat you."_

_I look across to the door and see Vikus still standing there, watching the scene that plays before him with fascination. Augustus knows enough about me to know what it is I fear the most, but I know enough about Vikus to know that that isn't his style. Despite everything Cato once told me about what happened to him as a child, I know that I would accept a world of pain in exchange for escaping the fate that awaits me now. But it isn't to be, and he just shakes his head as he sneers at me, turning his back and walking slowly away._

"_I don't care what you do to this body, it will never be me," I tell Augustus as he throws me against the far wall before quickly closing the distance between us once more, my words defiant but still sounding weak through my tears. When he drags me to my feet and leans down as if to kiss me, I spit in his face, determined that I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. He just laughs._

"_Well that is where your lover and I differ, Jacia. I have never wanted your immortal soul."_

I feel his hands on me for an instant and then everything vanishes. My tormentors, the underground room, the darkness, all gone, replaced instantly by the smell of pine trees and the sound of wind upon water. This isn't the first time that I have allowed myself to believe that it's all over, only for my torment to start all over again, and it isn't the first time I have lived through that particular nightmare, but it is the first time that it has stopped halfway through, so I lie there for a few seconds, still shaking with a mixture of the most intense fear and the fiercest anger I have ever felt, but daring to believe once more that the dream isn't going to possess me again.

I eventually acknowledge that I am finally free of the venom's grasp, and I sit bolt upright, scanning my surroundings frantically, trying to reassure myself that the last of many venom-induced nightmares is not reality. The handles of the two knives in my jacket pockets dig into my sides and I reach for them instinctively, still scanning the plain until my eyes rest upon Cato, who stands a short distance away, slightly the worse for wear following the fire and the tracker jackers but generally unharmed, his blue eyes staring intently at me, full of concern.

I try to stand but, to my horror, I find that I can't. I only get about half way up before I fall back to the floor, the muscles in my arms refusing to push me up and those in my legs refusing to support my weight. How long have I been unconscious? How much time has passed since Cato dragged us both back to the Cornucopia just as the tracker jacker venom overwhelmed us? I look up at the sky, feeling the blazing heat of the midday sun on my face. Something tells me that it isn't the midday that directly followed the dawn which is the last thing I remember.

Determined that I will not sit here all day, I stretch and try again to stand, this time managing to rise unsteadily to my feet. I slowly and shakily make my way towards Cato, who now stands at the entrance to the Cornucopia, still watching me intently. I reach up and push his shoulder so that he turns around, a puzzled expression on his face which I imagine is considerably amplified when I run my hand across his back, reassuring myself that my dream was just a dream. He turns back around before I take my hand away, and for a brief instant I feel the slow and steady rhythm of his heart beating as I abruptly step away.

I stare up into his eyes, suddenly unable to speak. I fight to push aside the memories of my dream and the many other equally horrific alternatives that the venom induced, trying to focus on the fact that we're both still here despite everything the Gamemakers and the hated girl from District 12 have done to try to change that, which has to mean something.

"When did you wake up?" I ask eventually.

"Earlier this morning. District 1 woke about half an hour ago. I was tempted to cut his throat while he slept but I didn't want to deprive you of the pleasure. He actually looks surprised he's still alive so maybe he isn't as brainless as we thought."

"He is," I reply flatly.

He smiles as he continues. "The boy woke up a couple of hours ago. I sent him through the mines."

"When he'd only just regained consciousness after a tracker jacker attack? You are cruel," I say, smiling as I take the piece of bread and the dried fruit that he offers me, my fingers briefly connecting with his.

"Are we going hunting again?" calls Marvel. "You can stay here if you haven't recovered yet," he adds, looking at me.

I answer him by passing the food back to Cato and then letting the knife I'm still holding fly from my left hand to my right and then forwards to whistle over his shoulder past his left ear, missing his head by millimetres.

"You should be grateful I have recovered or that would have been in your head. Entirely by accident, of course."

Turning my back on him, I scan the rest of the camp, feeling a sudden emptiness when I see that there is nobody else here. I try to think about what happened but all I remember is that one minute I was asleep and then I was running for my life. I remember the lake, and then Cato's one-sided battle with Peeta and our decision to temporarily let the boy go, but as for how we got to the lake or what happened after we lost sight of Peeta, I remember nothing.

"She's dead, Clove," says Cato, seeming to read my mind yet again. "They fired her cannon after Varia's."

I look up at him and slowly nod, saying nothing. He closes the distance between us, briefly pulling me against him before leaving me to my own thoughts as I walk away, mechanically beginning to gather weapons and supplies for going hunting.

I should have guessed, and if I am honest with myself then I think I did. I looked for her because I wanted her to still be alive, because I had wanted to convince myself that my acknowledgement of her death was part of one of my nightmares. I knew all along really that she wouldn't be there, and the more I think about that the more I remember of our flight to the lake. She was right under the tree when Katniss dropped the nest and she would have taken more stings than any of us. She might have been strong but she still never had much of a chance, and the strength of the grief and sorrow that I suddenly feel as a result of her death shocks me deeply.

She was brave and she was clever, and above all, she was the girl who somehow became my friend. She didn't deserve to die, especially not how she did. I blame Katniss for that, and I will make sure that I add Glimmer's death to the list of things that she will be made to suffer for when I finally catch her, but I also blame the Capitol with more conviction than I have ever felt before. This mess is their creation. They killed Glimmer. They are killing me one way or another by forcing me to choose between my own life and Cato's, and what makes it worse is that they call it a game. They call this entertainment. They call it fun.

I wonder how many of the people back in the Capitol are avidly watching their screens now, feeling the same emotions that I am feeling right now, rejoicing because Cato survived, mourning because Glimmer did not. A lot, I would imagine, but for very different reasons. They will be celebrating the fact that the man from District 2 who they chose to support was strong enough to escape death because it will mean that they don't lose face in front of their friends, or grieving because the money they placed on the vision of beauty from District 1 is lost to them now. They make me sick, they make me shake with rage, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. All I can do is push Glimmer to the back of my mind and concentrate on preventing the Gamemakers from firing the cannon that would end my life as surely as if they stabbed a knife into my heart and fired my own.

"At least we don't have to kill her," I say in a voice that is considerably steadier than I have any right to expect, more to myself than to anyone else, although I know that Cato hears me.

I gather some more weapons, finishing by experimentally lifting the long, thin sword that had been Glimmer's, swinging it back and forth a few times before fixing it to my belt. I have always fought with knives rather than a sword despite being trained to use both, and I cannot help noticing how Cato raises his eyebrows questioningly at me when our eyes meet. I shrug my shoulders at him in response and he says nothing. I don't even know why I'm carrying the sword myself, but I do know that I associate it with her, and that if I get the chance to stain the blade with Katniss Everdeen's blood then I will. For her.

"Let's go," I say to Cato, walking in the direction of the woods without looking to see if Marvel follows us. His time is nearly up too. He has only lasted this long because neither Cato nor I were quite ready to face the prospect of being alone together in the arena, but I think we both realise now that we cannot delay the inevitable for ever.

***

We return to the camp soon after we left, when darkness has only just fallen, none of us really feeling up to going very far when the after effects of the tracker jacker venom, and in my case at least, the memories of the nightmares it induced, continue to make us weaker than we were before. The freezing night time temperatures only make me feel worse, and when I sit down in front of our small fire in an attempt to get warm, Cato sits beside me, with Marvel on the other side of the blaze. I am amazed that he is stupid enough to still be here. If I had been in his place, faced with an alliance as strong as the one Cato and I clearly have, then I would have been long gone to the other side of the arena by now, but the arrogant and foolish boy from District 1 has shown no sign that he even suspects we are planning his demise.

"What now?" Cato whispers to me so that neither Marvel nor the boy from District 3 will be able to hear.

"We lose our last ally," I reply. "And I think we should get District 3 to dismantle the mines or at least get the supplies out of the minefield so that we can lose him too. Then we track down the rest."

He only stares at me in response, and I can tell by his expression that he feels the same reluctance I do even as he knows that it is what we must do.

"We can't stay in here forever," I continue, before scooting over to him so I can whisper in his ear in a voice so quiet that it won't be picked up by the cameras. "We promised each other that we would end this on our terms not those of the Gamemakers. If we don't keep that promise soon then it will be out of our hands."

He leans down to whisper into my ear as we lie together on the same sleeping bag. "Tomorrow then?" he says, his lips brushing my neck as he moves slightly away.

"You could let me borrow her sometime, District 2. It gets cold at night in this arena," interrupts Marvel loudly from the other side of the fire, making me realise exactly what this must look like on camera.

A wave of anger very visibly crosses Cato's face and I have to grip his arm tightly to stop him from launching himself at the boy, just catching him in time. While I am no Glimmer, it is certainly not the first time that someone has spoken of me in such a way in his presence, and it usually takes more than that to make him react so strongly. For the first time, I stop to wonder if the nightmares the venom gave him affected him in the same way that mine affected me. From the way I have seen him staring at me when he thinks I'm not looking, I suspect that I wouldn't want to know what he saw, but earlier on I had asked him anyway, even though I already knew that there was as much chance of him telling me as there was of me telling him. He didn't say a word in response but the pain in his eyes had told me all I needed to know.

I turn around without letting him go, pushing myself back against him and laughing quietly in response to how he seems to stop breathing, obviously surprised that I have temporarily chosen to forget that the whole of Panem is watching us. Well, after the tracker jacker incident there doesn't seem much point in trying to maintain the pretence. I relax when he drapes his arm over me, clearly abandoning the idea of killing Marvel, for now at least.

"I'll send her over to you if you like," he calls, "but only thing you'll get is a knife through your heart."

"You'll send me over?" I snap quietly but aggressively a few seconds later when Marvel doesn't respond, making my voice full of an anger that I don't really feel. "Cato Marcelli, I am not your possession."

"Since when?" he asks teasingly, laughing at the death-stare I send him in return. "I'll wake you later," he continues, and I pull one of the other sleeping bags over us, holding it tightly under my chin to block out the cold.

I am almost asleep before he speaks again, whispering in a plaintive voice that I have rarely heard.

"What purpose is he serving? Remind me again why I can't kill him?"

I smile in response although I know he can't see me. "Because it's not time yet. And anyway, you're not killing him, are you? I am."

"When did I start allowing you to dictate to me?" he asks in reply, mirroring my earlier tone of voice.

"Well…" I whisper back, pretending to think about my answer as I pull the sleeping bag higher to cover my mouth in the hope of hiding my words from the cameras. "I think it was sometime about five years ago."

He leans down to whisper in my ear once more. "Have I ever told you how much I hate it that we're being constantly filmed?"

"Several times," I reply with exaggerated and mocking lightness. "I hate it too, but it does have its advantages. For a start, it means I can say what I like to you with complete impunity."

He pulls me back against him so hard that I could barely breathe even if I was able to remember that to do so was a essential requirement to my continued existence. "I can only tolerate you tormenting me so much, Clove. Cameras or no cameras. Don't forget that."

He loosens his hold on me almost immediately but it still takes at least half of his watch for me to fall asleep, something I'm sure doesn't escape his notice.

***

I didn't expect to fall asleep at all but I must have done, because the next thing I know, Cato is gently shaking me awake as he tells me it's my turn. I lie there staring up at the sky once more, listening to the steady rhythm of our breathing, unable to avoid thinking how this could almost be just another night in District 2. It bothers me how unchanged we are, how there is no difference in the way I am with him or the way he is with me. Surely we should be somehow affected by the fact that the entire nation is waiting for at least one of us to die?

My watch passes quickly and the most difficult part of it is forcing myself to leave the warm sleeping bag so I can go to wake Marvel. I slide out from under Cato's arm without waking him, yet another sign that we are rapidly reverting to how we were before this whole mess started, and cross over to where the boy from District 1 lies, shivering despite the huge amount of sleeping bags and blankets covering him. I kick his shoulder sharply, deliberately choosing the side that still bears the burn from the forest fire, and smirk when he yelps with pain.

"It's your watch, District 1," I inform him before returning rapidly to the other side of the fire.

Cato is still asleep, and even though it is his turn to keep watch, I can't bring myself to wake him. Every time I close my eyes I get slightly less vivid but almost as terrifying flashbacks to my nightmares, and I would rather be exhausted than forced to live through that again. I climb back into the sleeping bag and he instinctively reaches for me, pulling me back against him. I know I should push him away but I don't.

I hear nothing for at least an hour, but then the sound of quiet but insistent rustling reaches me. My first thought is that it's Marvel, moving around while he's on watch in attempt to keep warm, but I soon realise that whatever is making the sound is far too quiet to be the boy from 1.

"Are you going somewhere, District 3?" I snap suddenly, sitting up and staring at the boy in the dim light of the fire.

He looks from Marvel, who has fallen asleep on watch for what isn't the first time, and back to me, clearly both surprised and horrified to find me awake. He has a very furtive expression on his face that tells me all I need to know. It tells me that he had every intention of going somewhere.

"I…"

"Do you really think I'd trust an imbecile like District 1 to watch over me? I thought you were supposed to be intelligent."

My movement wakes Cato instantly and he pulls a knife from my jacket pocket as he stands up, glaring fiercely at the boy.

"Were you thinking of leaving us, District 3? That would be a shame. For you anyway."

I get up and walk around to stand behind the boy, and he turns his head rapidly from side to side as he tries to watch us both at the same time. I could kill him right now. It would be so easy and over in a second, however I know that I can't. Not yet. All of our supplies are still at the centre of a minefield that only he knows how to get through. I look at Cato and can tell that he is thinking the same.

"Why don't you go hunting?" I suggest. "Take him with you," I continue, gesturing to Marvel, who is still asleep despite the commotion that is happening around him. "I won't be too devastated if you don't bring him back," I finish, grinning wickedly so there is no way he could misunderstand my meaning.

Cato raises his eyebrows at me in shock that I would give the hated boy from District 1 to him, but he says nothing, crossing the short distance to Marvel and dragging him violently to his feet, holding my knife to the startled boy's throat.

"Sleeping on watch, District 1? You should be dead already."

He abruptly releases him and Marvel loses his balance, falling to the floor before he hastily scrambles back to his feet. Cato picks the boy's belt and sword off the floor, before throwing it at him so hard that I hear it connect loudly and painfully with his chest as he catches it.

"We're going hunting," Cato commands, turning and heading into the woods without another word.

Marvel trails after him until he realises neither I nor District 3 are following. "Why is she staying here?" he asks suspiciously.

"While you were keeping watch as diligently as you always do, District 3 decided to test the boundaries. Clove is merely staying to remind him exactly where he stands."

Cato looks pointedly at the supplies once he catches my eye and I nod slightly in return, knowing that my real role is to supervise the removal of the former contents of the Cornucopia from the middle of the minefield.

I watch as Cato and Marvel disappear from sight before drawing Glimmer's sword from my belt and pointing it at the terrified boy. I walk forwards and he backs away, continuing until he reaches the edge of what I'm sure must be the range of the nearest mine. Abruptly swapping the sword for the long knife that I fought with at the bloodbath when I soon realise that I don't feel comfortable with the relatively unfamiliar weapon, I throw a backpack to the boy and he stares back at me, perhaps realising what his fate will be.

"Go on then," I snap, flicking my wrist so that the knife cuts through the fabric of his shirt collar to leave a small, superficial wound at the base of his neck.

"Yes, Clove," he stammers, knowing that he has no choice but to obey. "I'm going."

I watch the dawn light start to appear in the sky, suddenly realising that, as far as I can guess, it is the eighth day in the arena. How much longer will they allow this to go on? It has been days since the tracker jacker incident and still nothing from the Gamemakers. Nobody has died since Glimmer and Varia. Surely they won't tolerate that for long, not with the outcry from the Capitol that the lack of bloodshed is certain to bring.

District 3 returns with the backpack now full of food, waiting nervously a couple of paces away from me. I am about to order him to go back, but just as I open my mouth to speak, a cannon fires, causing a flock of mockingjays to fly up from the nearest tree, screaming to each other in a way that reflects how I am suddenly screaming inside.

Logic and probability tell me that it isn't his. There is no way that Marvel could defeat him even if he had the courage to try, so they have probably just stumbled upon another of the remaining tributes. Either that or Cato finally got so fed up of Marvel that he decided to silence him for good. However as much as I try to tell myself that, I cannot help the panic I feel as I quickly bring the hilt of my knife down onto District 3's head, knocking him out so he can't take advantage of my absence to escape, before racing for the woods. What if Marvel has tricked us all along? No, I'd have seen through his pretence. The boy is so good at being arrogant and idiotic that he can't possibly be acting. But what if the Gamemakers did something? What if there is a hovercraft lifting him away even as I sprint desperately through the trees?

It isn't difficult to follow Cato and Marvel's trail, in fact it is worryingly easy despite my rising terror. I crash through the trees for far too long before I realise how stupid I'm being. What if it's a trap? What if he's alive and hoping that I won't blindly rush in and fall into it too so that I can come to his aid? There are so many possibilities and they all pass through my mind as I continue onwards, now creeping silently as a ghost.

It doesn't take long to find them, and I approach the clearing where they are in time to see Cato lean down to pull his knife from the lifeless body of the boy from District 10. The cannon wasn't Cato's. He's still alive. It wasn't the Gamemakers at all. I feel like crying with relief as he straightens and turns in my direction. Initially his face is an expressionless mask, the face I have seen so many times before in the Arena back home, but when he sees me the mask falls abruptly away to leave a strange mixture of exultation and regret that isn't anywhere near as familiar.

"Which one did you get?" I ask, despite how I already know the answer. It's the first thing I can think of to say which doesn't make it plain for all to see how much I had panicked when I heard the cannon. Cato will know already and I want him to know, but for Marvel to see what he would think of as a huge weakness is unacceptable.

"District 9. Or was it 10? They all look the same after a while," replies Marvel, once more confirming his own stupidity. How can anyone expect to be victorious against opponents they don't even recognise never mind understand?

"That is why you will never win the Games, District 1. Because they really do all look the same to you," says Cato. "It was District 10," he continues as he turns back to look at me. "I was going to give the audience a show but he threw himself on my blade before I had even started. How did you find us anyway? Where's the boy?"

Now I understand the reason for the regret in his eyes, knowing that it was not because the boy deprived him of the opportunity to torment him and give him a slow and agonising death but because he had to treat him in such a way in the first place. I know what people would say if they knew that. They would say that he didn't have to, that he could have killed him painlessly in a split second, and they would be right, but where would that get us? I've seen it many times before, showing mercy is the quickest way to get the Gamemakers to show just how merciless they are, and with us they have an ideal opportunity to do exactly that. My nightmares made me see that.

"You have many strengths Cato, but being discreet isn't one of them. I could track you in the dark." I reply, smirking as I tease him in an attempt to distract him from his thoughts. "The boy is with the supplies. We reached an understanding eventually," I continue, the smirk not leaving my face as I reach down to my jacket pocket to tap the handle of my knife.

"Which way now?" interrupts Marvel suddenly, and my head snaps around to look at him as I recall his presence once more.

"That's it for now. I'm going back to the camp to rest," I answer, deciding that as it is only a matter of time before the Gamemakers increase the temperature again, there is no point trying to hunt, especially when the audience has already had one death today and it isn't even fully light.

"Because you have had such a strenuous morning so far," retorts Marvel with more sarcasm than I thought him capable of.

I pull the nearest knife from my jacket in a split second. Nobody talks to me like that without being made to regret it. I take a step towards him but Cato gets there first, and he is already holding the knife he used to kill District 10 against Marvel's throat. I circle around to stand behind him just as it occurs to him to attempt to back away, and as he turns his head to face me before returning his attention to Cato, I see true fear in his eyes and smile. Cato smiles in response and when I laugh at the absurdity of the situation he laughs with me, which only seems to terrify Marvel more.

"Are you capable of counting, District 1?," I ask, addressing him as if I was talking to a young child before realising that I am speaking to him like Enobaria spoke to me and abruptly returning to the aggressive tone that I'm sure he's familiar with by now. "If you are then you will be able to work out that we are two and you are just one. To borrow the Capitol's words, that means that the odds are most definitely not in your favour. If you want to carry on hunting then be my guest, but do not expect us to run and save you if you meet Thresh somewhere along the way or end up falling into one of District 5's traps."

"So I think you will agree that we should go back to the lake, won't you, District 1?" says Cato after a minute of silence, lowering the knife in response to Marvel's almost imperceptible nod.

***

After returning to our camp we do nothing but sit and rest, none of us really sleeping because of the intense and very obviously artificial heat. The Gamemakers are clearly playing around with the temperature again, making sure that we don't forget that we are merely puppets and that they are the ones pulling the strings. As if we could ever forget.

The heat is almost unbearable, and I reach automatically for my water bottle only to find it empty yet again. I sit up and look in the direction of the lake, which suddenly seems a huge distance away, deciding that the last thing I want to do is get up and walk around. My whole body aches and my shoulder hasn't stopped hurting since the fire. The only good thing I can say about that is that at least it was my left shoulder and not my right. I have never been able to throw as well with my left arm.

Cato sits up as well and hands his water bottle to me. I drink what is left but there isn't enough, and I quickly realise that I have no choice but to move. He sees it too and stands before I can, dragging me to my feet after him. I wince as the movement pulls on the burn that the falling branch left behind, and however much I try to hide my reaction I see that he notices.

We walk slowly to the lake, passing the boy from District 3 on the way. He is still lying unconscious on the floor a short distance away from the edge of the minefield, exactly where I had left him at dawn.

"Exactly how hard did you hit him?" asks Cato, his obvious amusement showing clearly in his voice.

"Hard enough," I grumble, continuing towards the water. "He would have escaped otherwise."

"Well he's certainly not going anywhere now," he replies, trying unsuccessfully to hold back his laughter. "And to think that you tell me that _I_ don't know my own strength…"

"You don't," I retort, crouching down to fill my water bottle and then holding out my hand for his.

He passes it to me but then reaches down to fill another one himself before walking back in the direction of the boy. This time it is me who has to hold back my laughter as I watch him tip the entire contents of the water bottle onto the unfortunate boy's head and then drag him to his feet when he reluctantly regains consciousness in response to the shock.

"We need more supplies. Make sure you get the burn ointment from that crate over there," he commands, pointing at a small plastic bin on the outside of the pyramid.

The boy has clearly learnt not to argue and immediately does as he is told, returning to Cato's side in record time. He seems to be getting quicker at following the path through the minefield every time we send him, which makes me wonder exactly how intelligent the boy is. I am not being arrogant when I say that have always been one of the smartest in the Training Centre, it's merely stating a fact. It is what made me different, it's why I can fight as well as I can. I am hardly in a position to win on strength alone so I have always had to rely on my sharpness of wit. But when I look at the boy whose name I don't even know, I realise that I have nothing on him. I briefly wonder what he could have done with his life if he hadn't been reaped, before rapidly pushing such an alien thought from my head, looking up as Cato reaches my side.

"Let me look at your shoulder then," he instructs as we reach our pile of sleeping bags. "It was you who told me that burns get infected if you don't keep them clean. And this might help," he continues, showing me the small Capitol-made tube that he carries.

"I can do it," I reply, lifting my hand to take the tube, only for him to snatch his hand back so I can't reach.

"Don't be stupid, Clove. I saw the branch hit the back of your shoulder. Have you got eyes in the back of your head so you can see if it's healing or not?"

"But-"

"But nothing," he says, putting a hand to my right shoulder and turning me around so I stand with my back to him.

I roll my eyes even though he can't see me, unbuttoning the top couple of my shirt buttons and pulling the formerly green fabric, which is now a rather awful mixture of grey, brown and red, away from the wound as I decide that it is easier for me to just give in.

"Didn't you even cover it with something?"

"Strangely enough, I have had other things on my mind," I snap, before suddenly biting my lip to stifle my cry of pain as he tips water over the wound then dries it, applies the ointment and covers it with a bright white bandage that I know won't stay that way for long.

"What would you do without me?" he teases, pulling my shirt back over the bandage and then ruffling my hair. I spin around to push him away but he just laughs, not moving a millimetre as he turns back to look at District 3, who still stands a short distance from the minefield. "I think it's time for us to fetch some more supplies," he says, giving me a pointed look that tells me he is once more thinking of our plan to dispose of the boy and Marvel, who is asleep again despite how close we came to killing him this morning. I wonder if he has any comprehension of how truly precarious his situation is.

***

After fetching the supplies we return to our positions by the lake, trying to have a sensible conversation about what to do next despite the combination of the heat and Marvel conspiring against us to prevent it. Marvel seems convinced that Peeta and Katniss are going to spring from nowhere to attack us, an opinion that he voices at every available opportunity, and however much I continue to join Cato in shouting him down, I too am surprised that we haven't seen her for such a long time.

It is about mid-afternoon when Cato sees the smoke rising in the distance, and when I turn to look, I am immediately suspicious. Every tribute left in this arena with the possible exception of Lover Boy, who is probably half dead by now anyway, is still here for a reason that has little to do with luck. I find it very hard to believe that any of them would be stupid enough to light a fire that is sure to draw us straight down on them unless that is exactly what they want to happen. However I also realise that we have no choice but to investigate. No matter how fed up I am of traipsing through the woods, we can't simply wait here for the other tributes to come to us.

After a disagreement with Marvel about whether or not the boy from District 3 should accompany us into the forest, which Cato and I win, all four of us set off in the direction of the smoke. We keep walking for about quarter of an hour, seeing and hearing nothing, until our plans are altered once more by something totally out of our control.

The loud bang that seems to reverberate across the whole arena is so sudden and unexpected that we all stop dead and stare at each other. I am abruptly reminded of the day when the climbing wall collapsed at home and the deafening noise that that had made, but the noise that I just heard is a hundred times louder and there is only one possible cause.

"The supplies," I whisper, interrupting the unnatural silence that followed the explosion.

Cato turns and sprints back the way we came and the rest of us follow. I leave Marvel to push District 3 along, listening to him as he curses Cato and I, saying that we were wrong to take the boy with us. I want to ask him what difference a small boy with a spear that seems to terrify him as much as his opponents do could possibly have made but I don't get the chance.

I see the smoke rising from our camp long before I reach the edge of the tree line, and Cato's shout of rage as he sees the ruins of our supplies a few seconds before I do confirms that my suspicions are correct.

District 3 throws stones into the wreckage before declaring in a very small voice that it is safe to approach, standing as far away from us as he possibly can. I pick through the remains, watching while Cato vents his anger upon the few charred crates and containers that remain intact, waiting for his temper to subside.

It doesn't take me long to realise that it isn't going to, not any time soon anyway. I haven't seen him like this since he faced Cassius at the reaping trials, when he was desperately seeking vengeance for what our enemy had attempted to do to me. Most of the time he hides it well, I suspect a lot better than I do, but it is reactions like this that make me realise how close to the edge he is slowly being sent by being trapped in here.

I look around at the utter devastation that surrounds me, wondering which tribute it was who had given in to temptation and tried to steal supplies, but at the same time I also wonder if it was a tribute at all. What could possibly have triggered so many of the mines? Unless when one exploded, they all did. The most obvious explanation seems to be that our captive did his job far too well, and it wasn't just one mine that was inadvertently activated but the whole lot, wiping out all of our supplies in a split second.

Cato continues to rage against everything he sees, and despite the fact that I believe this has long since stopped being just about the supplies, it doesn't take him long to arrive at the same conclusion that I did. He turns on the boy from District 3, who tries futilely to escape, immediately realising that in the absence of the person who set off the mines, he is going to be held accountable for what happened.

I stand and watch as Cato grabs the boy and breaks his neck with one effortless movement, and I jump with shock as the cannon sounds. This has to stop. Immediately.

I take a step forwards, berating myself furiously for the slight hesitation I feel even as I realise that I am more scared for him than I am for myself. The second step is easier than the first, and as I watch him arming himself to return to the woods, I feel like laughing at my own stupidity. How could I doubt him? He has saved my life so many times, not just in this arena, and I know that it would break him completely to even think about doing to me what he did to District 3. It suddenly scares me how certain I am of that.

"Cato, stop," I command, deliberately standing between him and the nearest entrance to the woods.

"Not now, Clove!" he shouts, attempting to walk past me only for me to follow him so I am in front of him once more.

"Wait for the death recap. It's the only way we'll know. There's no point chasing a dead person," I try, switching tactics instantly from command to logic when I realise that the former really isn't working. He pushes me away but I stand my ground. "Listen to me!" I shout, getting slightly desperate now. I have always been able to talk him down in the past but nothing I say seems to be helping.

He tries to push past me again and I continue to follow him, still refusing to let him enter the woods. The temper doesn't seem to be releasing him, and this time he grasps my upper arms with bruising force and lifts me off my feet, half throwing me away from him.

"For Panem's sake, Cato! What are you going to do? Kill me as well?" I scream, starting to lose it myself as I close the distance between us once more, grabbing his wrists and roughly putting his hands on the base of my neck in a deliberate imitation of what he had done to District 3. I know better than anyone how strong he is and it has far from bothered me in the past, but standing here like this reminds me sharply of how the boy he effortlessly killed only moments earlier was only slightly smaller than me. "Go on then! Do it if you think it will make you feel better!"

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and the fit of temper leaves him as quickly as it consumed him.

"What-? Do you really think-?"

He shakes his head and lowers his hands to my shoulders, barely touching me this time, and he is unable to meet my unwavering gaze for at least a minute before he finally looks up. He lowers his hand further and pulls up one of my shirt sleeves, lightly touching the bruises that have already started to form. I can tell he's about to say something so I abruptly speak before he can, both my expression and my voice considerably softer than I should allow them to be in the arena.

"I don't need an apology, Cato. I just need you to listen to me and wait for the death recap. Whoever set off the mines probably died anyway, but we need to know for sure."

"So we'll do that then," adds Marvel, speaking for the first time since the explosion. He had followed behind me the whole time, pointing at the sky when I talked of the death recap, clearly trying to calm Cato down as well. My first thought was that he realised that while I was the one with the bruised arms, he would get a whole lot worse if that fury was turned on him and that the Gamemakers would soon have another cannon to fire, but then I decided I was crediting him with too much intelligence. He was probably just scared.

I lead the way to the far side of the lake and sit down. All we can do now is wait.

**be-nice-to-nerds - if you're still reading then I'm sorry a thousand times!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Two chapters in two weeks - only because I had most of this one written ;) **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed (including Kesolai and Sister to the Wolf who I can't reply to. I forgot to say last time but Kesolai, if you want to send me requests then I will try to write one of them for you :)) and everyone who added this to their favourites/story alerts - there seemed to be a lot of you this time (you can talk to me, you know - I don't throw knives like Clove does...)**

Chapter Fourteen

As I remove my night-vision glasses and look up through the gap in the tree canopy, I can tell by the intense darkness of the sky that it is just before dawn. It's useless and I can't do this any more. We could keep walking all day as well as all night and I still don't think we'd find anything, or should I say, anyone. We need a better strategy than this.

I sink down to the ground underneath the nearest tree and lean back against it's trunk, staring across the small and strangely familiar clearing that we find ourselves in, a clearing that I am sure we have passed through at least twice before.

"You can't stop here, Clove," says Cato softly as he leans down and lifts me to my feet.

"Why not?" I ask drowsily as my legs decide to stop supporting my weight and I collapse against him, the lack of sleep finally catching up with me.

After waiting for what felt like all eternity for the death recap, it soon became apparent that if it was a tribute who destroyed our supplies, then that tribute survived to walk away. Cato had remained true to his word and had sat quietly by my side while we waited, but once the wait was over, he wanted nothing more than to search for the person who wiped out one of the biggest advantages we had over the rest. Despite not being entirely convinced that it wasn't the Gamemakers who were responsible for today's destruction, I had gone along with what he wanted, both to make him happy and because I didn't have any better ideas. The three of us have been walking around and around the forest ever since.

"Just for a minute," he concedes, lowering me to the ground once more and then sitting beside me so I can rest my head on his shoulder. "It's not like we have a reason to return to the lake anymore."

***

The next I know I am opening my eyes to the pale light of dawn rather than pitch darkness. As I lift my head, Cato has already turned to face me, smiling faintly as he passes me a bottle of water.

"You've only been asleep for about an hour."

"Where's Marvel?" I ask, scanning the clearing without finding our much-despised 'ally'.

"He said he was going to check his snares," he replies, "but whether that's true or if it was just an excuse to leave, I can't tell. I let him go anyway," he continues, smirking slightly. "He's even worse at travelling through the woods than me and we both know that you can track me in the dark."

I smile at his repetition of my words from yesterday, acknowledging that if the boy from District 1 has actually finally worked out that we will soon decide to reduce the arena's population by one more tribute, then it shouldn't be too hard to hunt him down.

"If he has worked it out then it's certainly took him long enough," I say as I stand up and hold my hand out to Cato. "It looks like he's just made himself our first target."

"Start with the easiest," he replies as he takes my hand and stands up, showing me clearly what he thinks of our former ally.

I hold out the now empty water bottle and tip it upside down. "We need to go back to the lake first."

He sets off through the trees and I follow, feeling slightly better than I did a couple of hours ago but not much. Despite preparing for this for the whole of my life, after less than ten days in the arena I am exhausted, and as I am used to physical exhaustion, I know it is the emotional strain of being in here with Cato that is making me feel like this, which is something that no amount of rest will cure.

We scan the wreckage of our old camp as soon as we reach the forest edge, and I am disappointed but not surprised when there is no sign of any of the other tributes, not even Marvel. Cato takes the water bottle from me, taking it to the lake before bringing it back so I can put the purifier in it. I do so quickly, feeling as grateful and relieved as ever that I had thought to carry it with me at all times. If I hadn't then we would be relying on the generosity of sponsors, and while I am sure that we have them and they are just waiting for us to really need something, I have seen no sign of them yet.

"I think it's about time we found out what's over there," says Cato, looking in the direction of the void that lies opposite the woods.

There is something I don't like about that part of the arena, and I shiver involuntarily in the same way that I have done every time I have looked over there since the beginning of the Games. However, there are only so many times we can walk around the woods and I have realised for a while now that we need to try something different. We have no choice.

I nod and step forward to stand beside him, and we remain still for several seconds before walking in the direction of the void. I put my hands firmly on the handles of two of my knives, saying nothing when Cato draws his sword, the ringing noise the metal makes sounding deafening in the stillness of the dawn.

As we get closer to what looks like a cliff edge from the Cornucopia, I can see that it isn't one at all. There is a steep slope that leads down into a massive plain of grasses that seem to stretch on forever. We turn to look at each other at the same time, and while no fear shows in his face, Cato grips my wrist tightly and pulls me so close to him that we almost trip over each other as we cautiously walk forwards.

We descend the slope and begin to walk slowly through a narrow path in the grass, which gradually increases in height to soar above my head and eventually even above Cato's. Everything is silent and the only sounds I can hear are those we are making ourselves. I can hear our footsteps, the rustle of our clothes as we walk, and if I listen hard enough then I swear I can even hear my heart racing.

"I don't like this, Cato. This place is wrong."

"I know," he replies. "Just a little bit further and we'll turn back. Marvel wouldn't have come in here. Not even he would be so stupid."

I smile grimly and continue onwards, more so I don't lose contact with him than for any other reason. I am furious with myself that I can't fight the fear that this alien place seems to be inducing in me, but that fury does very little to overcome my terror.

The path we are following abruptly opens out into a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by yet more of the grasses, which are so tall by now that they block out most of the light, making it appear to be dusk even though I know it is only mid-morning and throwing forbidding looking shadows over the space before me. The temperature seems to have dropped further, and despite telling myself that I am being ridiculous, I feel like I am being watched by something other than the arena cameras.

I shiver once more as I pull the ripped and charred remains of my jacket around me. That's it. Enough is enough. We are going back to the Cornucopia right now. If there are other tributes in here then we will have to wait for them to come to us.

I am about to tell Cato what I have decided and I look to my left just in time to see him take a step forwards in the direction of the clearing.

"Cato! Stop!" I scream at the top of my voice, grabbing his arm and pulling back with all of my strength.

He stops, more in reaction to my voice than to my efforts to pull him back, and looks down at me in confusion before wrapping his arms around me a second later, holding me tightly until I stop shaking even as he frantically scans the area around us for what caused my extreme reaction.

"What is it, Clove?" he asks eventually when he sees nothing.

"I don't want you to go over there," I say weakly in response.

"I gathered that much," he replies, smiling slightly and reaching out to straighten the torn collar of my shirt.

"I can't explain why," I continue, "but I want to leave. Now."

He reaches down to pick up a large, heavy rock from the floor at my feet and throws it into the centre of the clearing. For a few seconds nothing happens, but just as I am berating myself for my overreaction, the ground suddenly starts to shift and the stone is sucked into quicksand, which continues to bubble menacingly long after it has vanished.

"Saved your life," I whisper, and even that sounds loud in the silence.

He stares unwaveringly into my eyes without speaking for what feels like all eternity and even I can't read his expression. "Maybe it would have been easier if you'd let me go."

"I sincerely hope you don't expect me to dignify that with a response," I reply angrily, grabbing his wrist firmly in a very rare reversal of our roles as I drag him back the way we came as quickly as my feet will take me without a backward glance.

***

There is no sign of life by the lake when we return, me still dragging Cato along behind me as if I am forcing him despite how he follows me willingly, but it is so silent that I get the impression that someone or something has been here recently. I frantically scan the plain but see nothing out of the ordinary and quickly put it down to me being on edge because of what happened in the void. I walk forwards again, still not relinquishing my death grip on Cato's wrist, which is why I am pulled to an abrupt halt when he doesn't move.

"I don't want to talk about it," I say quietly, stopping him before he can start, knowing that he was going to bring up the subject of his last words to me in the void.

He pauses, considering whether or not to heed the warning tone in my voice, before nodding seriously and then immediately smirking at me, demonstrating the quickest change in demeanour I have ever seen. "Don't get used to that level of control, my Clove," he says, looking pointedly at my hand on his wrist.

I smirk back at him, the relief at escaping from the void and what could have been the end of everything suddenly filling me entirely. I trail my hand slowly up his arm and across his throat while he stands motionless, just watching me. "I think we both know where we stand," I reply, dancing away as he reaches for me and heading towards the trees.

"Where are you going?"

"To get some wood to restart the fire that you're going to be preparing," I reply lightly, only turning back when I reach the first trees to see him uncovering the remains of our old fire from underneath the debris of the explosion.

I walk through the forest, gathering wood as I go and putting it into the bag on my shoulder, never venturing out of sight of the camp. It isn't the other tributes that I fear but the Gamemakers, who have, as far as I am concerned at least, been very conspicuous by their absence. I know that the audience will be temporarily satisfied by the events of yesterday but they will not remain that way for long. I know enough of the Capitol audience to know that the boy from District 3 died far too quickly for their taste.

Just as I am about to return to Cato, I see a plant covered with red berries, and it is then that I realise what the emptiness I feel is. Hunger. I have eaten little in the arena and I haven't eaten at all since about this time yesterday. It isn't as if we have our abundance of supplies to choose from either, so I pull a small bag out of one of the pockets of my main one and set about filling it with the berries, certain that they are edible because I remember them from training. Cato won't be mocking me now as he did then.

I am so intent on my task that it is only when I have removed the last berry from the bush that I look up to see that I am not alone. The rabbit hops cautiously between two trees only a few metres away from me, not seeming to register my presence as I am crouched down and mainly concealed by the berry plant. I have drawn a knife from my jacket and sent it flying into my prey before it has chance to think about fleeing, and seconds later I rise triumphantly to claim my prize. It isn't a big rabbit and it won't go far when it has to feed two people, but I am proud nevertheless and can imagine the shocked expression on Vikus's face as he watches from the mentors' Control Room, remembering how he had told us to keep hold of the supplies because we wouldn't stand a chance in the wild on our own. I guess I just proved him wrong.

Cato has cleared a small area around where the fire will be by the time I return and has arranged all of our remaining blankets and sleeping bags in a pile. There aren't many, most of them having been blown up with the rest of the supplies, and I have a feeling that it will be a long and cold night if we decide not to hunt.

"Look what I found," I say proudly, raising the rabbit and the bag of berries up to show him. "I told you we wouldn't starve."

He smiles and laughs. "I don't think that was what your father had in mind when he started teaching you to throw knives."

"Probably not," I reply, smiling in return.

"As much as I appreciate the effort you went to, I don't think we would have starved," he continues, holding up a bag that is attached to a silver parachute.

I quickly cross over to him and peer inside the bag to see a silver cooking pot, carefully wrapped and sealed. "Somebody in the Capitol is watching us then," I reply. "And to think I went to all that effort for nothing."

He hands me the bag and takes what I have gathered from the forest in return, proceeding to light the fire and then prepare the rabbit, cooking it on a stick when the fire is hot enough. Soon we are sitting down to a weird combination of chicken and rice, rabbit and berries, which is the best meal we have had since we left the Capitol and probably a lot better than what we are used to at home.

I only put my plate down when I have eaten every last thing on it, and then I lie back on the sleeping bags, raising my arms above my head and stretching from the tips of my fingers to the tips of my toes, feeling more relaxed than I have since I left District 2, as if the strain of being in here and in this situation has finally got so great that my mind has used the only defence available to it and blocked it out entirely.

I squeal in a most inappropriate manner considering the reputation of my district when Cato leans over to rub my stomach before tickling me mercilessly.

"You looked like one of those pampered house cats that they have in the Capitol. The ones on that programme that Selene was watching," he says, laughing as I try to fight back.

He rolls over onto his back in response to me attacking him and for a brief second I think that I have the advantage, but it doesn't last long and seconds later I find myself staring up at the unnaturally blue sky as he flips me easily onto my back.

Then the cannon sounds and we both still instantly, realising exactly to what extent we have forgotten where we are. Cato releases me immediately and pulls me into a sitting position before he retreats to the other side of the pile of sleeping bags.

"It must be Lover Boy," he says, "I'm surprised he lasted this long."

It is the most obvious explanation and I nod in response. "He must have had more strength than we thought if he could fight for so long against the venom and the infection he would have got."

We sit in silence, lost in our own thoughts, and I physically jump slightly when the second cannon sounds a few minutes later.

"That changes things," he says. "Who do you think that was?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Katniss hopefully. We will know soon enough. You sleep and I'll watch."

"We seem to spend more and more time waiting for the death recap," he replies, but he nods in acceptance and lies down, lying on his back and staring up at the sky.

"Knowledge is power," I say, turning away as I lie down then pushing myself against him so I settle with my back pressed tightly to his side.

***

A couple of hours later I wake Cato so he can keep watch, and I quickly fall into a sleep which is for once dreamless, comforted by the familiar weight of his arm that still lies across me, his hand gripping the fabric of my shirt.

It is the grating chords of the anthem that wake me, and I open my eyes to a dark sky which is suddenly illuminated by the seal of the Capitol as the death recap begins. I sit up, wrapping myself in a blanket as I stare intently upwards, waiting for the identities of the two tributes who left the arena this afternoon to be revealed.

Marvel's face appears in the sky first, smirking arrogantly down at us in a way he will never do again. I had thought that I would be pleased to see him dead, and I am certainly far from mourning his passing for any reason other than that his name was supposed to go on my kill list not someone else's, but if I am honest then I just feel numb, as if my mind is once again blocking out what it can't currently deal with.

The next face to appear is the little girl from District 11. I vaguely recall that her name was Rue, but realise that I had thought very little about her other than that since the Games started.

"So what happened there then?" Cato asks when the anthem finishes and the seal disappears, throwing some more wood on the fire so that I can just about make out his face in the dim light.

"Where would we start if we tried to guess?" I reply. "I had expected one of them to be Lover Boy too. He should be dead by now."

"You saw the cut on his leg. He will be soon. But who killed Marvel? Who is left that it could have been?"

"You know as well as I do. Katniss, Lysandra, Thresh and Peeta. The only one it couldn't have been is Peeta."

"We haven't seen District 5 or District 11 since the bloodbath. It was probably Katniss."

"You think she killed the little girl? I don't think so. She might have taken Glimmer's bow and arrows but she isn't capable. Nor is Thresh. He protected Rue in training. There is no way he would have killed her."

"So you think it was Lysandra?" he asks, his voice telling me that he doesn't believe it was.

"Possibly. Or maybe someone killed Marvel because they saw him kill Rue? He was certainly capable of it and she had a lot of protectors for a Hunger Games tribute. Or maybe they killed each other?"

He laughs in response but it is without humour. "You think that little girl could have brought down Marvel? He wasn't up to much but I don't think that's likely."

I scowl at him. "Don't forget that this little girl killed Gaius, Cato," I reply, looking down at myself before steadily meeting his gaze once more. "He was the best in the Training Centre that year and a match for you as you are now in strength. Everyone thought he would go to the Capitol."

"The desire for vengeance makes us capable of extraordinary feats, Clove. You would have killed that man if he had been as strong as every fighter in District 2 combined. And I don't think you can really compare yourself to District 11, do you?"

I shake my head to clear the memories of that night of three years ago, of seeing Peony burn on the funeral pyre and then suddenly finding myself watching her murderer burn the night after with little idea of what had happened in between. All I had known was that he had to die for what he did to the only relative I had left, a simple-minded, defenceless child who had been as suited to Training Centre life as I would be to the life of a Capitol fashion model.

"Maybe not, but she must have got her seven in training for something," I reply, trying to keep my tone harsh even though it takes a few words for my voice to stop shaking. "We will never know what happened. All we do know is that we need a new target now that District 1 is no more."

As usual I don't fool him, and he pulls me with him as he lies back down. I rest my head on his chest so I can hear his heart beating, hoping that he doesn't feel the wetness of my tears as they seep into the fabric of his shirt. I know he does when he brings his hand to my face and wipes them away. I hate myself for showing so much weakness in front of the cameras, especially over something that happened such a long time ago, and I refuse to let myself break down as he strokes my hair away from my eyes.

"Can we start hunting again tomorrow?" I ask, grateful that my voice is steady and hoping that one of the other tributes is doing something interesting so that the Capitol is watching them instead of me. Right now I am doing a wonderful impression of what Vikus would refer to as 'being a disgrace to the district'.

"It's not like the others are going anywhere," he replies. "Sleep, Clove. I'm not tired."

I know he's lying and that I am being selfish if I do as he says but I can't keep my eyes open despite the images I see when I close them. He pulls the rest of the sleeping bags over us, giving most of them to me and ignoring the efforts I make to distribute them more fairly when I feel him shivering. I solve the problem by pulling them all over my head so that the cameras won't see me at all and then rolling over so I lie across him, removing the need for him to choose who gets to stay warm.

***

First thing this morning I found what looked like a trail leading away from the Cornucopia into the woods. It was and still is very difficult to follow, telling me that whoever I am tracking is deliberately trying to conceal their presence.

"You're never going to be able to follow them now," says Cato, breaking the silence as we find ourselves at the edge of a narrow stream.

"Just keep walking," I snap, annoyed that whoever it is has got the better of me.

"Where are we walking to if there is no trail?"

"This way," I hiss, silently seething as I turn away from the stream and head back through the trees.

"Would you kill me if I repeated what Marvel said to you when you stopped him from attacking District 3?" he calls as he follows behind.

I stop and turn to face him, knowing that he is trying to talk me out of my bad mood but remaining as unable to resist as ever. "Definitely," I say, the harshness of my voice totally wasted because I can't stop myself from smiling.

He closes the distance between us so we walk side by side through the trees. "I'll just think it then," he whispers, pushing me back when I hit him.

"Look."

"What?"

"Over there," I say, running in the direction of the coil of rope I see at the base of a nearby tree.

I pull lightly on the rope and uncover a fine Capitol-made net. A net just like the ones that Marvel had removed from the Cornucopia when he came up with the idea of setting traps to catch the other tributes. On closer inspection, I see that part of it is stained with blood.

"That tells us who killed District 11 then," concludes Cato. "It doesn't look like she put up much of a fight either so someone must have killed Marvel afterwards."

I frown slightly, realising that part of me had wanted little Rue from District 11 to have been Marvel's killer. It would have served the arrogant boy right, to have been brought down by the physically weakest tribute in the Games, a tribute who he had always derided so severely.

"Some people are what they appear to be, Clove," says Cato, clearly guessing what I was thinking. "Not everyone is like you. Well, actually, there is nobody else like you," he continues, his tone mocking but the expression on his face serious.

"It was probably Katniss who killed him. It makes sense. She probably shot him with one of Glimmer's arrows."

"How do you work that one out?"

"She wouldn't have gone back for them if she couldn't use them. And it would explain why there is no sign of a struggle. If there had been a fight here then we would know."

"Unless the Gamemakers covered it up."

I shrug my shoulders and immediately search for a way to change the subject. I don't even want to think about the Gamemakers.

"We're never going to find the others if we stay so close to the lake," I say. "We should get what supplies we have and follow the stream for water."

Cato nods in agreement. "In the morning then."

We head back in the direction of the Cornucopia and we get there just in time to see our second silver parachute falling to the ground. It doesn't contain a freshly cooked meal this time but a number of packets of crackers, dried fruit and other foods that are easy to transport and will keep for a long time. I realise instantly what this means. It means that whoever sent it, whether it was the decision of Vikus or of the sponsor, approves of my suggestion and wants us to keep hunting. I can't make up my mind whether that is a good thing or not.

I look across at Cato, who hasn't spoken for a while, and my eyes instantly meet his as if he had been staring at me already. He doesn't drop his gaze for a long time and I can see the pain and tension in his face more clearly than ever. He eventually turns away to rebuild the fire and I unfold the blankets yet again, lying down but strangely feeling so tired that I don't think I could sleep. He lies beside me with his arms folded behind his head. I want to curl up against him but I don't. I can tell that something is troubling him and therefore I can't relax. We sit there in total silence for what is probably only minutes but feels like hours.

"Tell me about home," he says suddenly, breaking the silence.

I lean up, supporting my head on my hand as I look at him. He doesn't look at me but stares unseeingly up at the sky.

"What do you mean?" I ask, more shocked than I can say to see him like this. He looks like he has been holding back his emotions for so long that the dam has finally burst. I have never ever seen him even look like crying and he doesn't now, but the expression on his face terrifies me, so used am I to him always being so strong.

"I close my eyes and all I see is this arena," he replies, his voice so quiet that I have to strain to hear him despite being such a short distance away. "Every time I go to sleep, the nightmares the tracker jacker venom gave me play over and over again in my head. If you tell me then I will remember how we used to be and maybe I will forget what I saw."

"You never told me what you dreamt."

"You didn't tell me either."

"You don't want to know."

"Clove…"

"Why think about what can never be reality again?" I snap, wishing that he would stop talking like this because I can't deal with it and stay strong enough to deal with what the Gamemakers are sure to throw at us sooner or later.

He does look at me then, and as much as I want to look away, his gaze is so intense that I can't. "Because every time I close my eyes I see what they did to you in my nightmares. Every time it was the same. They knew too much. They didn't touch me, they held me captive and made me watch while they did it all to you."

I lie back down when he stops speaking, willing the unshed tears in my eyes to remain that way, subconsciously shifting closer to him as I take a deep breath. I reach out and lift his hand, bringing it across to rest over my heart.

"Not dead yet," I whisper.

"Not for a long time yet," he replies eventually, and I take a deep breath, realising that after our time in the arena, I just don't have the courage to go anywhere near that particular discussion.

I close my eyes and picture the only home I have ever known in my mind, shocked by how vivid the picture my imagination paints actually is, how bright the colours are and how exact and precise the details. I can see it so clearly that I could almost be back there, and it is that feeling that makes my voice quiet and full of longing for what used to be when I speak.

"District 2 is…well, honestly, it's dark and filthy and full of corruption. It has nearly killed us both on more than one occasion, but it's still home and I wish with all my heart that we were back there. It's baking hot in summer, so hot you can see the heat rising from the floor of the Training Centre courtyard and you can barely breathe because the air is so thick. You get annoyed with me because I push you away at the same time as I push the sheets off the bed at night."

He smiles at that but doesn't speak, so I take that as a sign that he wants me to continue. "But it's bitterly cold in winter. You tease me when I go to training in every shirt and tunic that I own and still try to steal yours. Vikus has to get his minions to force the doors of the Arena open when they freeze shut. He made me start to teach the twelve-year-olds to throw knives last year. Very few of them have a clue what they're doing and you tell me to wait outside the room for my own safety when they practice."

I fall silent when he laughs softly and pulls me against him, turning to bury my face in the collar of his jacket to hide the emotion my expression must show from the cameras.

"Don't stop."

I take a deep breath before I look up again. "I wanted you to help me but they were even more terrified of you than they were of me. Most of them took one look at me and lost their ability to speak, but when they saw you they could barely lift the knives because their hands shook so much. Only Iris dared to speak to you when you stood by my side as we faced them in the Training Room. She answered you back when you called them all cowards so you lifted her up, turned her upside down and suspended her in the air by her ankles until she went dizzy. She hasn't feared you since."

He laughs. "She's like you."

"So people say," I reply, laughing as well at the memory. "Do you think they're all sitting in the dining hall watching us?"

"Probably," he says, making my thoughts take a morbid new direction as I imagine them betting on which of us will return home.

"So now what?" I ask, deciding that as good old-fashioned District 2 strategy planning is the only distraction available to me then I might as well try it.

"You finally get to use that famous imagination of yours. We are going to kill the others in ways that the Capitol will be talking about for the next hundred years. Starting with District 12," he replies, with an evil smile that I can almost hear in his voice, making it perfectly obvious that his hatred for Katniss has in no way diminished. "Do you really think that she killed him?"

"We've had this discussion before. It makes sense. She was friendly with the District 11 girl in training. And she took the bow and arrows from Glimmer's body. She wouldn't have gone back for them if she didn't know what to do with them, it wouldn't have been worth the risk. We know that District 1 caught the little girl, so she must have killed him for revenge. It wouldn't surprise me if it was her who took out the supplies as well. If she can shoot a bow then she could have set off the mines from far enough away to still get out alive."

I tell him about my theory regarding the identity of the person who destroyed the supplies for the first time, looking up to see the fury in his face that I had known all along would be there.

"Then she will suffer for what she did to us. She will beg for me to kill her before the end."

"She will suffer, of that I have no doubt," I reply, smiling coldly back at him at the thought of finally hearing Katniss Everdeen's cannon sound.

"And what about District 5? We haven't seen her for days, she could be anywhere."

I briefly consider Lysandra for a second, realising that if she has survived this long then I was obviously right about her, but then my thoughts turn once more to Katniss and Peeta and their fictitious love story that had the Capitol gripped before the Games really even started. If Cato dies because of them then even if I die too then I will see to it that my ghost makes Katniss' life a misery for all eternity.

Cato sits up and I still say nothing, and instead of repeating his question he moves to lean over me, supporting his weight on his hands, which he places on either side of my head. He is so close that I can see him clearly despite the fading light, and I stare unblinkingly at his face, noticing how the remains of the tracker jacker sting under his eye make it look like he's been in a fight, how the thin pale line of the scar across his cheekbone that is a souvenir of his time as Vikus's captive when he was a child seems to stand out more than ever against his olive skin, how his black hair is starting to curl very slightly because it has grown longer than he normally allows it to. I could lie here and look at him forever, just so that I don't forget a single detail.

"Don't look at me like that," he says eventually.

"Like what?"

"Like you're trying to memorise me."

I fall silent once more, staring up into his eyes again and wishing that time could just stop so that neither of us has to die.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, still trying to break the charged silence between us.

"That we are going to get a reputation for being the most pathetic tributes in the history of District 2 by talking like this when we are being filmed and broadcasted to the entire nation!" I shout, desperate for him to stop forcing me to confront the issue that there are only four others left and that it will not be long now before we either have to decide who lives and who dies or allow the Gamemakers to make that choice for us.

Typically he is neither distracted nor put off by the aggression and anger in my voice and he leans even closer to me, his lips millimetres from mine. I know he is going to speak again so I continue before he can.

"You know what I'm thinking about. You said it yourself, there are only four left. What do we do when they are gone?"

He leans down and whispers into my ear so that the Gamemakers won't hear. "We end it like we said. Get the others like we planned and then see what happens. We've fought each other before and we can do it again. If we're convincing enough then they might let us both leave this place alive. Just think how far the reporters could get with the scandal of our relationship if they did."

I sit up and stare into his eyes once more, knowing that he is repeating the plan that we have agreed upon so many times but at the same time finally acknowledging that it was an impossible dream. It would never have mattered what we did when we got in here, the Gamemakers were never going to change the rules for us. They know too much already and are probably awaiting our final confrontation with a level of sadistic pleasure that will only increase when we actually have to face each other. I won't fight Cato. I don't think I could any more. Not after this. There is only one way to avoid the end and that is to prevent it from happening in the first place. I suddenly remember Vikus's words to me the day before the interviews when I was telling him that I won't allow Cato to kill himself so I can live: 'If it comes to it then I don't think he's planning on giving you a choice'. I will not let him die for me, and that means that I have to leave.

"It has gone too far already and you know it! What do you expect me to do? Wait until we are the last two standing then kiss you goodbye as I try to put a knife in your throat?"

"Don't be ridiculous…we have fought each other before. Nobody put on a show like we did."

"It was never for real then. Fighting in the ring back home for our mentors' amusement is one thing, but this is _real_. They will expect us to fight to the death!"

I must go now or I will never have the strength to walk away. What I propose to do when I have left I have no idea, but I have a feeling that it is the act of leaving that will be the hardest part. I stand up but he seems to sense what I'm thinking and stands too, shaking his head as he grabs my wrists and pulls me back to him before moving his hands to my shoulders, pushing down with such force that I feel like he is trying to push me into the ground so it is physically impossible for me to go

"I told you, give them a good enough show with the others and they might let us both live."

"Get a grip on reality. The rules of the Games haven't changed in over seventy years. They will kill us both before they let us live. We can't be together anymore, Cato. And we have to stop talking like this before the Gamemakers do something drastic and we both end up dead," I reply before continuing in barely a whisper. "The dream ended the second that my name was pulled from the reaping ball."

I pull myself sharply from his grip and stride away towards the lake before I can change my mind, fighting back my tears as I go. I keep walking until I reach the trees before subconsciously stopping. I have almost turned to look back at the Cornucopia before I stop myself and make myself carry on.

I keep going for a few minutes and then fall to the floor, curling up at the foot of a tree and staring blankly ahead of me. I am not so far gone that I wouldn't fight Katniss if I saw her but part of me wishes that Thresh would just appear and kill me, which is the most alien feeling I have ever felt. I fight the whole world, that is what I do. Surrender has never been an option, at least not until now.

I lie there for several minutes before I realise what I'm doing and suddenly sit up. Curling up and dying isn't going to help me and it certainly isn't going to help Cato. Is this the woman that he loves? A pathetic, feeble creature who is content to lie there and accept her fate? Never. He would be ashamed and so am I.

I will hunt the others down on my own. That way the odds will definitely be in his favour when the time comes. Happy that I have arrived at a decision and have a plan but still full of anger at the Gamemakers, the Capitol and every single other person who has in some way contributed to bringing me to this place, I stand and take as many knives as will fit in my hand out of my jacket. With my night-vision glasses on I can see almost as clearly as I can see in daylight, and I quickly focus on a tree that lies on the far side of the clearing, blocking out everything but my anger and imagining that the tree is President Snow as I let my first knife fly from my hand. A very short time later it sinks hilt deep into my target and is quickly followed by a second.

I am about to throw the third when the sound of the anthem blasts across the arena. The death recap. Not that it will show anything as there have been no cannons today. I block it out and refocus, releasing the knife as the Capitol seal fades from the sky. I am just about to release the fourth when the trumpets sound, causing me to miss my aim and send the knife into the tree a lot higher than the others.

"Greetings to the contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games!" booms Claudius Templesmith in what is the first announcement this year. The audience must be getting bored so this must be the Gamemakers way of setting up another bloodbath. "It has been decided that this year the rules of the Games are going to be altered so that two tributes can win if they are the last two remaining! The only condition being that they are both from the same district!"

I fall to my knees in stunned disbelief and stare up at the sky even though there is nothing to see.

"Yes you did hear correctly. It has been discovered that the rules permit two tributes from the same district to be crowned the victors. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favour!"

Inside my mind I am screaming his name but the shock prevents me from uttering a sound. I try to stand but I fall back down again, and it is only when I hear his racing footsteps that I am able to drag myself to my feet. Seconds later he appears on the opposite side of the clearing, and he crosses the distance between us in a second, looking like he has had the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders as he crashes into me and sends us both crashing to the ground.

Somewhere deep down inside there is a nagging voice telling me that there is more to the rule change announcement than there first appears, that there is no way that the Gamemakers would make it so easy, but when Cato kisses me I kiss him back, heedless of the fact that every man, woman and child in Panem is watching, clinging both to him and to the new hope that we might get the victory which only a few short moments ago seemed like an impossible dream.

Eventually I force myself to remember where I am and he notices my sudden tension instantly, looking questioningly down at me with an almost child-like expression of happiness and victory that I haven't seen for years. I smile back and relax again, trailing my hands across his shoulders.

"After nearly two weeks in the arena, I'm surprised you still want me," I say, only half teasing.

The expression on his face couldn't be more serious as he leans down, kissing my neck before whispering in my ear. "I've always wanted you. I always will. I love you, Clove."

I push him far enough away so that I can see his face, my eyes meeting his in stunned silence. I have always known that he loves me and that I love him back, but never before has he actually said those words to me and neither have I to him. I always thought that to attempt to voice my feelings would jinx us, and so I resolved to never do so, to simply enjoy the time that we have, however short or long it may be. However the arena has changed that, and I reach up to put my hand to the side of his face, tracing the scar on his cheek before entwining my fingers in his hair and pulling him back down to me.

"I love you," I say, my voice little more than a whisper. My words are for him and not for the Capitol.

He kisses me again, pulling me tightly against him, and it is only when I realise that pretty soon I won't have the willpower to tell him to let me go that I push as hard as I can against his chest, making him look at me curiously once more.

"I might love you but if I had any money then I would bet it all on us being on camera now and I don't love you enough to give the whole of Panem a show," I say with mock seriousness.

He laughs at me and stands up, lifting me with him and setting me on my feet before pulling me to his side again. "It would probably win us some more sponsors if we forgot about the cameras," he teases, making me hit him as violently as I can through my laughter.

He is about to lead me back to the lake but then he turns back to look up at the tree that still has my knives buried in it, just a bit too high for me to reach. "I suppose you're going to expect me to get those back for you now, aren't you?"


	15. Chapter 15 Part 1

Chapter Fifteen - Part One

I pull the last few remaining berries from the bush and stand up, reaching my hands around to support my aching back. It's only a couple of hours past dawn and it's already hot. The sun's beating down relentlessly onto my head in a way that tells me instantly that the Gamemakers are up to their usual tricks with the weather. It seems to be a pattern now; baking hot during the day and freezing cold at night. I wish they'd just leave it alone.

I bend down to pick up the bag of berries, but I drop them abruptly back to the floor when I notice Cato standing a short distance away from me. He has that look on his face, a look I suspect is familiar to me but to nobody else in the world and would probably be described as mischievous were it to be on a less naturally-intimidating person. I race away from him immediately, not at all surprised to hear him following.

I can run fast, but in a flat out sprint he is always going to be faster, and a short time later he lifts me off my feet, slowing to a walk with the look in his eyes worryingly unchanged. I look away from him to face the direction we're going and what I see makes me begin to struggle violently. Infuriatingly he just tightens his hold so his arms feel like steel around me, making my attempts to escape nothing more than a waste of energy.

"Cato Marcelli, put me down right now! If you throw me in that lake then I swear I'm going to forget about the rule change!"

He reaches the edge of the water and smirks down at me.

"I mean it!"

"Of course you do," he says calmly. "But you don't scare me, Nightlock. You never have."

And with that sudden reversion to his childhood nickname for me, he releases his grip, lifting me away from him before throwing me unceremoniously into the icy water of the lake, which I soon find out is truly icy despite the blazing temperature set by the Gamemakers. The shock makes me gasp for breath as I struggle to the shore.

"Is something wrong, Clove?" he asks, his face a very obvious picture of the innocence he has no right to claim.

I glare at him while pretending to be summoning up the strength to drag myself out of the water. "Don't just stand there then. Come and help me."

He laughs at my uncharacteristic call for help but walks over quickly, making me surprised he's making it this easy. I wait for him to get close enough and then I jump up and kick his legs from underneath him like I've done to so many people in the practice ring back home. He's seen me fight often enough that he should have been able to see that one coming, so I feel little remorse when he falls into the water beside me, giving me a look that promises later vengeance before he disappears from my sight.

I roll my eyes and wait for him to run out of breath, certain he won't last much longer even though he's a much better swimmer than me. I keep waiting and he still doesn't resurface, and eventually I push myself away from the shore and back into deeper water. He surely can't hold his breath for that long, can he? I know I couldn't. This is the Hunger Games arena, and however hard it currently is for us to remember that, anything could happen.

The next second, just as I'm really starting to panic, I find myself lifted from the water and thrown into the air. He catches me when I fall back down, crushing me against him in exactly the same way he used to when he was teaching me to swim back at home. Our eyes meet and I can tell I'm not the only one recalling the memory, but it doesn't stop me from being angry at him for scaring me like that when we're so close to victory. Until we're both on a hovercraft out of here, I won't believe it's over, and I'm not planning on letting him out of my sight.

"Don't ever do that to me again! Have you any idea how much you scared me?"

"Your heart's racing quickly enough to give me a good idea," he replies without a hint of remorse, blatantly enjoying tormenting me as much as he ever did. "It's so reassuring to know you care."

"I hate you," I hiss, the considerable venom in my voice completely cancelled out by the way I still have my arms draped over his shoulders, my wrists crossed behind his head so my face is millimetres from his.

"No you don't," he whispers, his tone no longer as teasing as he lifts my legs up and wraps them around him.

"But I may freeze to death in a minute," I reply, knowing I have to break the moment before I forget about the cameras.

"Well you shouldn't be in the lake then," he retorts knowingly, all seriousness vanishing as abruptly as it arrived.

I just stare at him, temporarily lost for words as he lifts me up and leaves the water, putting me down on a blanket by the Cornucopia. He pulls his shirt over his head and lies it flat to dry in the sun, looking questioningly at the glare I send in his direction.

"You do realise I will be wearing that if it dries before mine, don't you?" I say in response, plucking at the soaking wet fabric of my shirt that I obviously can't put on the floor next to his. "Although I suppose I'll let you off because you might get someone to send us some food looking like that."

He says nothing, sitting down beside me and laughing when I quickly lie down and rest my head on his lap. "Does this mean you don't hate me anymore?"

"No, it just means you're useful. The floor of the arena would be uncomfortable to rest my head on," I reply flatly, before squealing as he brings his hand up over my throat in response.

It doesn't take long for the sun to dry both me and my clothes, and I soon retreat into the shadow of the Cornucopia when my pale skin begins to burn. Cato follows me and pulls me back into the same position I was in before, lightly tracing the features of my face with his fingertips as if he's attempting to do the very thing he accused me of doing before Claudius Templesmith announced the rule change and commit me to memory just as I was him.

"Think about your reputation back home," I tease. "Nobody will look at you in the same way again now."

He shrugs his shoulders. "I've been a fool for you for years, Clove, and the whole district knows it. But they know better than to think it makes me weak."

"Not when you're standing in front of them anyway," I reply with a smile, and he ruffles my hair but says nothing further.

I stare up at the sky, unable to stop myself from thinking about what the other tributes might be doing. Where is Lysandra? I haven't seen her for days. In fact I haven't seen her since Day One of the Games and only know she's still alive because I haven't seen her face in the sky. Neither have I seen Thresh, but after remembering that Glimmer told me she saw him disappearing into the void I now know to be the grass fields, I'm in no hurry to go looking for him. But they're out there somewhere, all four of them, and while Cato and I might have been given more than we could possibly have hoped for when the rule change was announced, I'm still painfully aware that this living nightmare won't be over until the last of the four cannons fires.

"Stop thinking, Clove. I can almost hear you. Talk to me instead."

I say nothing for a minute, trying to work out where to start.

"Clove," he repeats impatiently.

I half sit up but he pushes me back, his hand flat on my stomach to stop me from trying to escape again. I slap his hand away when he repeatedly twists one of my shirt buttons, sure he's deliberately doing it to annoy me, but he ignores me and his hand swiftly returns.

The button falls off and he throws it to the side before sliding his hand through the gap in the fabric to rest against my bare skin. I should get up, but I don't. I'm too weak. He's always been my weakness and nothing's changed.

"You're scheming, I can tell. What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," I say, hoping I sound convincing because I suddenly find I don't want to ruin our unexpected happiness with talk of Gamemakers and tribute hunting. I know we can't stay here forever but I'm not quite ready to return to reality yet.

"I don't believe you, Clove. You've never been able to lie to me and you know it."

The pressure on my stomach increases and I sigh deeply, realising I'm not going to get away with it. I'm not sure I want to either. I've always told him everything and one of the hardest parts of the past couple of weeks has been not being able to. The only problem that remains is that I still don't know where to start.

"I…"

"We _are _a team now, remember," he says, and I can almost hear his smile in his voice as he thinks about the rule change.

"I thought we always were," I reply, implying he's questioning us as a way of distracting him.

"Have you ever doubted it?" he replies, moving before I can react to catch both of my wrists in one hand, dragging me around and towards him, holding my arms above my head so I can't move.

"Never," I breathe, and I can honestly say that I've never been so certain of anything in my life.

He smiles but doesn't release me. "You still have to start talking though. If you have a plan then you're going to tell me."

"Or what?" I reply, staring back at him with playful defiance.

"Do you really want me to answer that, Clove?" he asks, trying and failing to keep the smirk off his face. "The whole country is watching."

"I suppose I'd have told you anyway," I reply quickly, scowling as he smiles in response to his victory. Stupid cameras. Stupid Gamemakers. "It would be nice if you let me go," I suggest, not sounding anywhere near as convinced about that as I wanted to.

"If I must," he says, releasing me and lying back down so we are side by side.

"We could be the only two people in the world," I say, breaking our comfortable silence after several minutes.

"This won't last forever unless we finish it. But I think you know that already."

I nod, more to myself than to him. "So the plan has to stay then?"

"We have no choice."

"It's a big arena, Cato. There are only four left and they could be anywhere. And even if Thresh is in the grass fields, going back in there is the quickest way for us to both end up dead."

"Katniss will look for Peeta," he says, deliberately avoiding the subject of what happened the day before yesterday. "She'll have to find him because of the rule change."

When I think of that morning, I wonder if the Gamemakers would have announced the rule change if I hadn't stopped him entering that clearing and the unthinkable had happened. Probably. I bet the Capitol would have been highly entertained by watching me lose my mind. Then I sit up and look down at Cato, and I quickly realise they'd have witnessed my fall into insanity a long time ago. Starting from as soon as his cannon had sounded.

"She'll be lucky if he's alive when she does. Unless…" I stop mid-sentence as a possibility suddenly occurs to me.

"Unless what?"

I lean down to whisper into his ear so the cameras can't pick up my voice, feeling him laugh as my breath catches when he puts his arms around me.

"Wouldn't want the Gamemakers to think we're whispering about what we shouldn't, would we?" he whispers, doing the very thing he's suggesting we shouldn't be doing. I hope I'm right in thinking that they can't hear us when we talk like this.

"Maybe District 12 have more sponsors than we think," I suggest, struggling valiantly to keep my mind on Peeta and Katniss as he pulls me even closer.

"I don't understand."

"Capitol medicine could heal an infection, however severe."

"You think they healed him?"

"It's possible, isn't it?"

He pushes me back up and stares intently into my eyes as he thinks about what I just suggested. "More than possible. It makes sense and would explain a lot." I know he means the rule change but neither of us say anything and he abruptly changes the subject. "Clove, could you climb one of those trees?"

I nod in response. "But probably not like the Girl on Fire though. Why?"

"It would be good to see more of the arena. Get a better idea of where we should be going."

"I'll try if you want," I reply, before going to get up and realising I've ended up sitting across him. "Have you any idea what this must look like on camera?" I say quietly, torn between amusement and embarrassment. "I might have been joking when I said it to you but it'll take a lot of work to make everyone back away from me in fear when we get back home after this."

He drops his hands to my hips, smiling with mock innocence as if he had no part in it at all even as he circles his thumbs over my hipbones in a way that threatens to distract me totally.

"You're the one who cares about what they think, Clove. Besides, the whole of District 2 knows I'm the only one who can touch you without ending up with a knife in my throat so I could do what I like to you and nothing would have changed really."

I hit him and stand up before he can retaliate. "I can't believe you want me to climb trees."

He says nothing, getting up and pulling me back into the forest. We keep walking for what feels like all eternity, and I eventually realise he's heading for the higher ground, back to where we saw Katniss by the pond after the fire. He finally stops in front of a tree every bit as tall as the one my enemy had climbed as she attempted to escape from us, a tree just like the one that contained the tracker jacker nest that killed Glimmer. I shake my head, pushing the thought of my ally from District 1 away as I turn to face Cato, looking from him to the tree and back again.

"Are you serious? Who do you think I am? District 12?"

He smirks at me. "Trust me, Clove. There's no way I'd confuse you with Katniss Everdeen. District 12's not my type."

I throw my hands up in frustration and glare at him. "There's no talking to you when you're like this."

The smirk doesn't fade as he lifts me up so I can pull myself into the tree. "I didn't say anything that isn't true," he calls after me as I begin to climb.

I smile to myself but say nothing as I'm too busy concentrating on not falling to the floor and breaking my neck. Katniss makes this look effortless, but unless you count the outer wall of the Training Centre, I've only ever climbed the wall in the gymnasium at home. There's no comparison between that and this.

I make my way slowly and cautiously up the tree, not replying to Cato's increasingly anxious calls of my name until I can climb no further. I look carefully around and find that what he said is true. I can see for miles from here. The only problem being that all I can see is miles and miles of trees in one direction and miles and miles of grass fields in the other. I can see the stream clearly now, and despite all of this effort, it still seems like the best option.

I get down from my great height a whole lot quicker than I ascended, climbing slowly at first but then getting faster and faster the nearer I get to the ground, anxious to be standing on my own feet as soon as possible. Too anxious, it would seem, because when I'm a few metres higher than the lowest branch where I started, I don't pause to check my foot is secure before lowering myself down and am suddenly falling rapidly towards the ground. I don't quite get there though, and land heavily in Cato's arms, gasping for breath for the second time today as he looks at me with an amused expression on his face.

"Very dignified, Little Girl. A perfect demonstration of the best way to climb down a tree."

"Well you're going to be the one climbing the tree if there's a next time and I seem to recall just how dignified your last attempt was."

He smiles, acknowledging my victory in that particular battle, and then puts me back on my feet. "What could you see?"

"Trees and grass fields. Nothing else. Apart from the stream. We should follow that if we're going somewhere."

"Wait 'til it gets dark."

"The sun's setting now," I reply, unrolling a blanket from my bag and wrapping it around myself in response to the sudden decrease in temperature.

"We should eat and rest for a couple of hours and then go."

"Eat what, exactly?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something. We've still got what we were sent."

I pull the packets of food from my bag but feel reluctant to use them if I might be able to find an alternative. I know we have sponsors but the longer the Games go on for, the more expensive supplies get, and I have no idea how much longer the Gamemakers will allow us to carry on the way we are.

"If we find somewhere sheltered to stay for a while then I'll go and look."

* * *

About an hour later I return to the relatively sheltered clearing where we chose to stay with nothing to show for my efforts other than a few roots, some more of the berries and one rabbit, which must have been a very stupid creature in life if I was able to catch it. I might be able to throw a knife with deadly accuracy but I'm not the most patient person in the world, so hunting for food isn't my greatest strength.

Cato takes what I've collected from me and I take the water bottles to fill them from the lake, declining his offer to go for me because I don't like the idea of staying at our camp and listening for a cannon to fire while I wait. I remember what that felt like on the morning he and Marvel killed District 10 and I'm in no rush to go through the agony again.

I return to our makeshift shelter to find that the rabbit is already cooking over the fire and that Cato is sorting the rest of our food.

"Look," he says, holding up several unfamiliar packages. "Someone in the Capitol loves us."

"Someone in the Capitol gets some kind of perverse pleasure out of watching me struggle to hunt until I've given up before deciding to send us food, more like," I reply, but I laugh anyway, relieved that we won't have to start hunting on virtually empty stomachs.

I walk over to him, going to sit down but stopping when he holds his arm out to prevent me, staring at me closely.

"Maybe you should have the whole rabbit. You've lost weight."

"I have not," I reply firmly, the ingrained District 2 desire to refuse to admit to physical weakness rising to the surface.

He stands and steps towards me, putting his hands over my hipbones and pressing down. I grudgingly admit to myself if not to him that they're a lot more prominent than they were before. I've been too anxious because of being in the arena to eat as much as I should even when we had plentiful supplies.

"You have, Clove. We have more than enough food. Eat. Or Ambrosius will have to make you a new Victor's Interview dress and then he'll probably subject you to the prep team for even longer as a punishment."

I shiver at the thought and then raise my eyebrows at him when he looks at me speculatively and moves his massive hands up to encircle my waist. I shrug my shoulders at him when he presses the tips of his fingers into my back, showing me that they almost meet even as I look down for myself to see that his thumbs also almost touch in the middle of my stomach.

"I'm not one of the Capitol's fancy racehorses, Cato. Would you stop inspecting me?"

He laughs at my pretence of annoyance, attempting to prove his point by lifting me high into the air above his head and back again as if I weigh next to nothing before releasing me and sitting down. I roll my eyes as I sit down beside him, pointing out that neither virtually encircling my waist with his hands nor lifting me up in the air proves anything as he's been able to do both for as long as I can remember. Despite that, I still eat what food he passes me without protest, especially following the look I get when I try to say I've had enough and don't want anything else.

The anthem plays a short time later as the seal of the Capitol appears in the sky, but it swiftly vanishes without any tributes being shown. There have been no deaths since Marvel and Rue, and for what must be the thousandth time, I wonder how much longer the Gamemakers will allow this to continue.

I look across at Cato, who's just climbed into his sleeping bag following our decision that I would keep watch first, and I open my mouth to ask him what he thinks will happen next, both in the arena and if we leave here. Then I abruptly remember how I have to control what I say because the cameras are picking up every word. I feel the need to be careful more than ever now I have something to live for again, and I'm determined not to give the Gamemakers a reason to ruin the dream I still can't quite comprehend.

"Come here, Clove," commands Cato, suddenly interrupting my increasingly negative thoughts, and my eyes flash back to his instantly.

I recognise both that tone of voice and the way he's looking at me, and I know it's implied meaning won't be lost on the audience either. What is he doing? He knows how I feel about the cameras. He knows I'll do anything for him but he also knows I believe what's between us belongs to us and not to the disgusting, voyeuristic viewers back in the Capitol.

I obey him anyway, deciding there must be a reason for it, and as I lie down beside him, he pulls all of our blankets up over both of our heads, plunging me into total darkness.

"What is it?" he asks before I even get the chance to breathe, speaking in a whisper so quiet I can barely hear him. "I know you, Clove. Something's bothering you that you can't talk about. They're not listening in now. Tell me."

Then I realise his intention and feel grateful for the privacy and that I have the chance to talk to him instead of keeping everything to myself. It still doesn't stop me from cringing at the thought of the headlines the Capitol newspapers are sure to bear in the morning though.

"You mentioned my Victor's Interview dress," I say just as quietly, feeling annoyed with myself that I should have such doubts about the future when less than two days ago I didn't have a future at all.

"And?"

"And it made me think. You do realise that even if we both leave here then nothing will ever be the same, don't you? We won't be two numbers on the Training Centre register anymore. We'll be the first pair of tributes ever to win the Hunger Games. The Capitol will own us, Cato."

"You mean _when _we leave here, not if," he says firmly before sighing deeply. "The Capitol already owns us, Clove. It'll be difficult to start with but by next year there will be more tributes and another victor. They'll forget about us then, or at least they'll move on. Just think of it. You can give Augustus the end he deserves and I can do the same with Vikus, in tragic and unavoidable accidents obviously, and then we can start again," he continues, his tone lightening as he thinks of our future and of finally getting the revenge he's been awaiting for nearly ten years.

"They'll be watching us all the time."

"So? We haven't done anything wrong," he replies, turning so his lips brush against my ear as he continues. "The only thing is that I imagine I'll be expected to marry you after this. The Capitol won't exactly think I dragged you under here to talk to you."

"Who says I'd have you?" I reply immediately, certain the smile that immediately appears on my face without any conscious thought is betrayed by my voice even if it is hidden from sight by the cover of the blankets.

"Me," he growls, rolling me over onto my back and laughing when I close my eyes tightly in response to the sudden brightness of the fire as the blankets fall backwards.

"It doesn't look like I'll have much choice then," I reply eventually. "But shouldn't you be asleep? It'll be dawn by the time we start otherwise."

He doesn't move so I push him until he does before rearranging the sleeping bags, putting some more wood on the fire and then shuffling back against him, lifting up his unresisting arms and wrapping them tightly around me.

"Well?" he asks, squeezing me tightly.

"Yes," I reply.

Let the Capitol work out what that means if they can.

* * *

After a couple of hours sleep each, we walked our now familiar trail around the edge of the plain which surrounds the Cornucopia before giving up on that and beginning to follow the stream deeper into the woods. Hours later, we remain on the same path, feeling like we're walking endlessly on and on without making any progress at all. I have seen a few signs that people have been here before us but nothing recent, nothing to tell us we're getting close to at least one of the obstacles that are preventing our return home. If this carries on then we're going to end up being thrown together by the Gamemakers, and as much as I want this to end, I'm almost positive that we won't enjoy the method they use to bring about that end anywhere near as much as the audience will.

"Do you think we should have gone a different way?" asks Cato eventually, and I notice that even he is finally starting to sound tired.

"I don't know. Which way would we have gone? We can't leave the water, you know that."

"This is getting us nowhere."

"And you know what that means, don't you?" I reply, hoping he'll realise I'm talking about the Gamemakers without me having to risk talking about them directly.

The grim nod I get in return tells me he understands completely. "I suppose we should keep walking then," he says, his body language subtly telling me all I need to know about how he feels about that idea.

I smile despite how much I hate to see him like this, reaching out to take his hand and pretending to try to drag him along. I don't get very far though, because a short time later he sits down and looks up at me, unsuccessfully trying to hide his amusement.

"You know how far that'll get you," he says, tightening his grip on my hand and suddenly yanking his arm back. Predictably he pulls me right off my feet and sends me crashing into his arms. "Let them do what they must. I can't walk around in circles any more."

I say nothing and stare along the meandering path that the stream takes through the trees. The view looks very similar to the one I've had since we started, but in the distance the trees seem to open out slightly and the ground around the water's edge seems a lot rockier. I know we should investigate further but as soon as I consider it, I realise I can't face it.

I know I'm being a disgrace to my district again but it's so hot in here and I'm so tired that I feel like I can't take another step, never mind fight another tribute. We still have our night-vision glasses. If the Gamemakers are going to set such extremes of temperature then hunting at dusk and dawn is going to be our only option. Just as I shuffle into a more comfortable position, Cato moves as well, and I protest briefly as he stands up, lifting me with him as he starts to walk back towards the trees.

"Stop whining or I'll make you walk," he teases, and I swiftly fall silent in response, not quite believing that he's joking.

Once we reach the depths of the forest, I force myself to become alert again, tapping Cato's shoulder so he puts me down as we creep through the trees. He goes one way around the perimeter of the small clearing and I go the other.

We've just established that it's as safe as a place in the Hunger Games arena can be when the trumpets sound. They're so loud in the quiet of the woods that I've drawn two knives from my jacket before I realise what I'm hearing.

"Congratulations to the six remaining contestants in the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games for getting to this stage of the competition!" booms Claudius Templesmith's voice. "I am delighted to be able to invite you to a feast!"

"I knew it," I whisper under my breath. We're not going. I'm not starving and neither is Cato. We don't need a feast.

"Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately. Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you this will be your last chance."

We stare at each other as the sound of Claudius Templesmith's voice continues to echo around us long after the announcement has finished. The Gamemakers must think we're all stupid. Everyone in Panem knows that in the Hunger Games, the word 'feast' actually translates as 'bloodbath'. Besides, why did Claudius say every tribute in the arena needs something desperately? We're not starving, we have weapons, we have no significant injuries. The only thing we were desperate for was given to us in the last announcement two days ago. I look at Cato once more, shocked by the way my thoughts are going but unable to deny them.

"What if we let the rest fight it out and see what happens? We don't need anything. Not really."

"Yes we do, my Clove," he says softly, stepping closer and pulling me against him. "This is a big arena. If we're going to get out of here then we need four more cannons to fire. There won't be a better opportunity than this."

Now it makes sense. Why didn't I see that? We can't stay in here walking around in circles indefinitely. My hunting skills aren't good enough and the generosity of our sponsors wouldn't last forever even if the Gamemakers allowed this to continue.

"So what do we do? Go back to the Cornucopia and wait for dawn? We need a plan. There are no petrified children left anymore and I don't think the second bloodbath will be as one-sided as the first."

He pulls absentmindedly at the frayed hem of the back of my shirt, remaining deep in thought for several minutes.

"We will have to split up," he says eventually. "One of us goes to the feast table and the other waits in the forest for the rest to arrive to stop them from getting any further or from running away."

"I should go to the table. I can't throw knives around the trees."

He nods in agreement as we both realise it's the best plan even if neither of us like it.

"If you need me then shout," he says, pushing me away slightly so he can look into my eyes as he holds me in a grip so tight that I have to bite my lip to stop myself from gasping with the pain. "I don't care about your pride, Clove, just about you."

"I know, I know. I will. But I don't think I'll be able to hit the Cornucopia with a knife, never mind something as small as another tribute unless you let me go so the circulation can return to my arms."

He smirks briefly at that, but doesn't release me and quickly becomes serious again. "Promise me, Clove. I won't win the Games without you."

"I promise," I reply, sagging back against him as soon as he relinquishes his grip.

"Good. Make sure you don't forget," he says. "We should start walking if we're going to get to the Cornucopia by dawn."

I nod and he lets me go, laughing when I catch his hand and tuck myself back under his arm as we walk along.


	16. Chapter 15 Part 2

Chapter Fifteen - Part Two

I've become a good judge of time since I came to the arena, much better than I ever was at home, back when I only cared that I rose at dawn so I wasn't late for training. And that means I can tell it's at least two hours before dawn when we reach the familiar part of the forest that surrounds the Cornucopia. We had rushed here, thinking it would take us all night to reach the place where the feast will be held, but we must have been closer than I thought and shouldn't have bothered.

"All we can do now is wait," I say, coming to a halt and turning to look up at Cato. "There's no point looking for anyone until the feast starts."

He seems to agree as he sinks to the floor at the base of the nearest tree and pulls me down with him, holding me against him so we both stay warm despite the Gamemaker-induced freezing temperature. I want to talk but I don't know what to say. I wouldn't know where to begin without sounding every bit as pathetic as the Girl on Fire and Lover Boy, so instead I simply cling to the fact that in a few short hours this nightmare could all be over and we could finally be allowed to go home. I close my eyes and listen to the slow, steady rhythm of Cato's heartbeat, imagining I'm not in the arena at all but that I'm actually curled up in his room at the Training Centre, back in the familiar bed that's so small it only just holds me as well as him.

* * *

When I open my eyes again I can see the first hint of dawn in the sky through the trees. I could almost laugh as I abruptly realise that we very nearly missed the feast. What would District 2 think? Two of the most formidable fighters in the history of our Training Centre not attending a Hunger Games feast because we were asleep at the time. I don't think we'd be very popular. Besides, it's time to get this over with. I want out of here and so does Cato. We want out of here together.

Cato has always held me as tightly in his sleep as he does when he's awake, and now is no exception. When I whisper his name to wake him, he just turns slightly and pulls me even closer, his hand flat on the small of my back as he crushes me against him in a way that makes me want to forget I'm in the arena.

"Cato, wake up," I say, speaking louder this time. "It's dawn. We have to go."

He loosens his grip enough for me to be able to look up at him, and when I do, he leans down to kiss me. "I'll go if you want to stay here."

"Have you ever known me to back away from a fight?" I retort, and he shakes his head without breaking our eye contact. "It's the best way, I know you can see that. What's the point of going together and having the other tributes flee the Cornucopia while Katniss shoots at us with Glimmer's arrows? You might think you are but you're not indestructible."

"Neither are you. I should be watching your back."

"More like I should be watching yours," I reply, only half joking and immediately side-stepping that particular discussion. I still remember the blind rage that possessed him when the supplies were destroyed and I can't help but think the Games have changed him as subtly but irreversibly as they have changed me. It pains me to see it and I know that the longer we stay in here, the worse it will get. "Don't underestimate Lysandra if you see her." He opens his mouth to voice the disagreement that's written all over his face but I reach up and put my finger to his lips. "Just trust me."

"Always," he replies, cupping my face in his hands and staring at me with the same fierce intensity I still clearly remember from the night before they brought us here.

I close my eyes and he lightly runs his thumbs over them. I can feel every scar and callus on his skin, all there as a result of years of fighting, all a direct contradiction to this uncharacteristic gentleness, which brings a lump to my throat and makes me realise that we'll both miss the feast if I'm unable to tear myself away from him. And in spite of everything I am when I'm with Cato that I never am with anyone else, I am what I am and I still want a shot at Katniss Everdeen.

"I have to go. We have to try, you know that. Or we won't be going home."

He nods, accepting the knife I hand to him as I check the carefully altered lining of my jacket that contains at least a dozen more, and I watch as he puts it into his pocket before I turn to walk away. I don't get far, as before I can take more than one step, he yanks me back towards him, lifting me up and leaning me back against the tree under which we had slept as he kisses me. The rough bark digs uncomfortably into my back but I couldn't care less. Nothing is certain in the Hunger Games, and even though neither of us have dared to talk about it, we both know this could be the last time we ever see each other. Only when I lift my legs up and wrap them around his waist to support myself does he stop, smiling against my lips as he pushes me gently away and lowers me back to the ground.

"Enough, or I'll never let you go," he says as he pushes me lightly in the direction of the Cornucopia. "Remember your promise," he calls after me less than a second later.

I'm unable to stop myself from turning back to look at him, and he remains standing beneath the tree, still as powerfully built and imposing as he was when we left home but with the pale first light of dawn highlighting the torn and filthy clothes he wears. He hates those clothes, and even though he never told me so himself and I didn't ask, I know it's because of the memories they make him recall, memories of the boy he used to be before he became the man I love.

He smiles that painfully familiar half-smile that's forever etched into my mind and I realise I've never loved him more than I do now. I remember what I promised but I know I will only call him if I think he can save me. No matter what I told him, I wouldn't ever call him to his death even if remaining silent resulted in mine.

I walk through the trees until I can see the Cornucopia, then I make my way around to the other side so I can see the entrance, always remaining well concealed in the trees. As the front of the golden horn comes into view, a table bearing four backpacks clicks into place before it. I immediately notice a large black one marked with the number 2, but I swiftly look away. Whatever Claudius Templesmith said, that's not what I'm here for. I'm here for three more deaths, nothing more and nothing less.

I see a flash of coppery-red as a small figure darts out of the Cornucopia and grabs a green bag from the feast table before I even register what I'm seeing. Lysandra. How like her to come up with a strategy like that. Maybe Marvel wasn't that far wrong when he called her the 'fox-girl'. The only difference is that I'd use the nickname in reference to her sly and cunning nature as well as her appearance. I watch as she races for the woods, heading straight towards Cato, and find myself hoping that he remembers what I told him. She's clever and that makes her dangerous. I can sense it.

Then all thoughts of the girl from District 5 are abruptly banished from my mind as I see a sudden movement in the corner of my left eye. Katniss. Heading for the table as fast as her legs will take her.

I sprint forwards, my hand instinctively reaching into my jacket for the nearest knife as I go, letting it fly towards the dark-haired girl from the coal district before she gets as far as the table. I quickly see that I was right about her being able to use the bow, because she deflects my knife with it at the last second, stringing an arrow in the same movement and firing it directly at me.

I quickly conclude that archery must be more than part of the reason for her training score, because she possesses the same deadly accuracy with the bow as I do with my knives. I turn to avoid the arrow but I'm not quite fast enough and it sinks deep into my arm. All I feel is the pain that is trying to consume me, but I push it away. Pain is nothing. I've known it all my life. I'm stronger than pain and it can only make me weak if I let it.

Forcing myself to stay focussed on the positive, I tell myself to be grateful it's my left arm and not my right as I struggle to pull the weapon out and keep moving at the same time. I briefly look down to watch the steady stream of blood seeping from the wound, but I don't have time to do anything about it now because Katniss already has her backpack.

She pulls the tiny orange thing onto her arm as I pull a second knife from my jacket, ignoring the painful protest from my left arm at the movement, and I quickly throw it at her before she can turn to fire an arrow at me.

I get her this time and I clearly see the blade slash across her head, fighting the stab of annoyance I feel that it was a glancing blow and not a direct hit. I care nothing for how they die anymore. All that matters is that it's quick so I can get out of here. Katniss staggers backwards as I continue to race towards her, and she's so far off her mark when she fires her next arrow that it wouldn't have come close to hitting me had I been Cato's size.

I slam into her, using my momentum to make up for my lack of strength and weight, and she falls flat onto her back with me on top of her, my knees pressing into her shoulders. Just like Cassia taught me at home, I think, smiling at the memory despite the situation.

Cassia Carpaccio had been barely taller and heavier than me when she had won one of the very first Hunger Games, and she never said so but I know she took pride in my success by how she went out of her way to help me despite her famously prickly nature. I'd only been twelve or thirteen when she had instructed me to always remember exactly how difficult it is for a person to get up if they can't lift their neck and shoulders, but I did as she said and never forgot her lesson. The first time I ever saw the old woman laugh was when she made me practice on Cato when he bravely but stupidly told her she was talking rubbish and that there was no way I could hold him down. Even now I can still clearly see the looks on both of their faces when she was proved right.

I look into Katniss's eyes, seeing a mixture of fear and defiance staring back at me. There's a lot more of the latter than I'm used to. Her eyes are grey, like mine but darker, and her skin is a pale olive colour that's nothing like Cato's. It's the first time I've ever really looked at the girl who has been my greatest competition ever since the day of the reaping, the girl who very nearly ruined my life with her fabricated love story, and I realise I have just enough hatred left inside me to at least even out the balance between fear and defiance a little before she dies.

"Where's your boyfriend, District 12? Still hanging on?" I ask harshly, deciding to test my theory about the Capitol healing Peeta.

"He's out there now. Hunting Cato," she snarls, replying with aggression worthy of my district not hers.

I can't resist a smile at the thought of Peeta hunting Cato though. Give it less than five seconds of my lover realising Peeta is in a position to hunt anyone and the boy from the coal district will swiftly become the hunted instead of the hunter.

"Peeta!" screams Katniss, her voice echoing around the plain even when I punch my fist hard into her throat to silence her. I look up and scan the trees just in case Lover Boy is about to prove my far-fetched theory true, but I soon realise she's bluffing.

"Liar," I snarl back, replying to her with as much venom in my voice as had been in hers. "He's nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What's in the pretty little backpack? That medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he'll never get it."

I open my jacket slowly and deliberately as I select a knife, as unable to resist tormenting her as I have been any of my other opponents who have tried to defy me in the past. I have every intention of slitting her throat, hearing her cannon sound and then going to find Cato, but she doesn't know that. I'm a child of a Victor and the District Two Training Centre, so I know how to put on a performance.

"I promised Cato if he let me have you, I'd give the audience a good show."

I've made Cato a lot of promises over the past couple of days, meaning every last one of them, but I can say with absolute certainty that none of them involved Katniss Everdeen. I know he wants her dead as much as I do, but I think we both agree that if we have any scores to settle then they are well away from this arena. But once again, she doesn't know that, and as the implication of what I just said sinks in, she begins to struggle. Not that it gets her far. She doesn't have the strength.

"Forget it, District 12. We're going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally…what was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, and then I think we'll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound? Now, where to start?"

I thought I would hit a nerve by referring to the girl from District 11, and from the look on her face it's plain to see I was right. I scan the surrounding area one more time as I wipe the blood from her face with the already filthy sleeve of my jacket, before tilting her head from one side to the other, watching her terror increase. Her defiance continues as she attempts to bite my hand, and I secretly admire her courage as I pull her away by her hair.

That will do, I decide. I have what I want and she didn't prevent it in the end. Her and Peeta's stunt at the interviews probably did us a favour in the end, as they would certainly have influenced the Gamemakers' decision to implement the rule change as much as me and Cato. Enough is enough. I lower my knife down to her face, running the very tip of the blade along the outside of her lower lip.

"I think… I think we'll start with your mouth. Yes, I don't think you'll have much use for your lips any more. Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?"

I prepare to lower the blade and slash it across her throat, but as I'm about to she spits forcefully in my face. Suddenly she isn't Katniss anymore, as for some unknown and irrational reason, her action reminds me so sharply of my nightmare and how I had done the same to Augustus, that I'm immediately transported back to that horrific place. I shake my head to clear the image but it doesn't work.

I abruptly feel like I'm above myself and looking down, that someone flicked a switch and the barrier holding back all my fears and memories has vanished into thin air. I try to pull myself back but I can't. A tiny voice in my head tells me that the one person who could make this right is too far away.

The logical part of me knows I'm seeing Katniss when I look down, but the rest of me blocks out the girl's face as all of the suppressed emotion of the past three weeks bursts out of me and replaces it with something else, something that is all of my worst enemies, dead and alive, all rolled into one defiant, mocking sneer that I can't escape.

I see Augustus, not as the broken man I left back in the Capitol but as the powerful, unstoppable version created in my mind by the tracker jacker venom. I see Cassius, the man who sought to replace Cato and was killed by my lover at his reaping trials because of it. I see Gaius, he whom I hated above almost any other, the man who murdered my half-sister. Then I expect to see Peony herself, the girl who was my responsibility, the girl I should have protected, however it's not her I see but our father, the man who haunted my childhood and set me on the path that ultimately led me to this place. I hate him for that and for so many other reasons besides, and it's with his image in my mind that I lower the blade not to Katniss's throat but back to its original position at her lower lip.

"All right, then. Let's get started."

I feel the tip of the knife puncture her skin just as I'm suddenly lifted violently into the air. For a fraction of a second, until my mind properly processes what's happening, I think that it's Cato. But then I abruptly realise I'm wrong. The man who holds me in the air like I weigh no more than a feather is every bit as strong as my lover, but I don't need to look down to see the mahogany brown skin of the arm that's clamped like a vice under my chest to work out that it's someone else entirely.

Even with my back pressed painfully into his chest to the extent that I can't turn to see his face, I know instantly that my momentary lapse into insanity has allowed District 11 this opportunity to take advantage of my weakness. I struggle with all my strength and feel an unfamiliar panic welling up inside me when I quickly realise that I can no more break free of him than I can of Cato when he holds me and really means it.

The thought of Cato makes me frantically scan the tree line, partly hoping he will come to save me and partly hoping he will stay well away. I look between the trees, which are still cloaked in a darkness not yet breached by the dawn, willing him to appear and frantically fighting back my tears when he doesn't.

Even as I try desperately to come up with a plan to get out of this, my mind slips more and more into overload. I try to reach for a knife but Thresh's grip is too strong and his clenched fist digs agonizingly into the arrow wound in my arm, clouding my thoughts with pain.

I'm still futilely fighting him when he flips me over and throws me to the ground with such force that even my small body makes the arena floor vibrate when I land. I hear a loud crack and it's accompanied by a burst of agony I've never felt the like of before that I can't seem to fight. I look down briefly to see my right leg is twisted at an unnatural angle beneath me, clearly broken. Even if I could focus enough to be able to, there will be no running away now.

The pain is so great that for a second everything fades to darkness as my mind reels from the shock, and when I return to reality, Thresh is towering over me, filling my vision entirely so I can see nothing else. Through the pain I hear him shouting. It takes me until he's finished speaking to comprehend what he said. What he accused me of doing. Rue. This is about her. He thinks I killed her.

"No! No, it wasn't me!" I shout, scrambling away from him, the pain every movement of my leg causes threatening to overwhelm me, making my hands shake so much that I can't even grasp the front of my jacket to help me reach for one of my knives to defend myself.

"You said her name. I heard you. You kill her? You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?"

Thresh steps towards me, a huge stone in his hand the only weapon he needs, and I realise it's all over. This is it. And I can't even fight back. I _am _a true disgrace to District 2, just like my father always told me. But even though that should matter to me, it doesn't. What's worse, what's the only thing that means anything, is that I'm a disgrace to him. He loved me because I was strong, because I wasn't like everyone else. Now look at me. When it comes down to it, I'm no different at all.

"No! No, I-" Thresh takes another step forwards, his face expressing more rage than I ever thought him capable of as he raises the stone to strike, and I abruptly forget my pride, my desire to fight my own battles and my need to always be in control of my own fate. I abandon my thoughts of remaining dignified to scream at the top of my voice for the person who has always rescued me in the past, the only person I have ever loved. "Cato! Cato!"

"Clove!"

I hear his reply, and his voice is full of a desperate panic I've never heard before, probably in response to the same panic in my own call, but he is too far away. Not even he can save me now.

"Cato," I breathe, my voice little more than a whisper as Thresh brings the rock crashing towards me.

Everything turns to black once more, but a second later I regain consciousness enough for the pain to hit me. It feels like someone has set me on fire, like I've been stabbed with a thousand knives all at the same time, and everything around me is spinning around and around so that focussing on a single point is impossible. I hear a low groaning noise of absolute agony, and I just about comprehend that I'm the one making it. I can hear an unintelligible jumble of words from somewhere close by but they mean nothing when I can think of nothing but the pain.

So this is how I'm going to die. Not in the Arena at home or in the ring at one of the prize fights like I imagined, or even as an old woman resting safely and peacefully in Cato's arms as I have also dared to imagine in my rare, more fanciful moments, but here on the freezing cold arena floor, slowly and in unimaginable pain for the Capitol's entertainment.

Nothing that's happening around me registers until I hear his voice, his heavy, racing footsteps making the ground shake and my pain even worse as they get closer and closer. I don't care. All that matters is that he came for me, and even as the grief I hear in his voice as he continues to call my name rips me apart, I can't help the strange feeling of elation I get from knowing how that grief is only there because of the strength of his love for me.

Then he sinks to the floor beside me and I struggle harder than I ever have before to focus on his voice.

"Stay with me, Clove. We have so many sponsors, just hold on for a bit longer and they'll send us medicine. Clove, say something! You can't leave me, I won't let you. We're meant to win this thing together. Why do you think the Gamemakers changed the rules? This is the first year two tributes can return home victorious and they did it for us. Clove!"

He reaches down to shake me and I cry out weakly, a pitiful moan escaping my lips before I can stop it. I try to open my eyes but I can't and it takes me several attempts to speak, hating myself for having to ask what I have no choice but to ask him. I can't see him but I can still sense his movement, and he leans down so he can hear me. I almost wish that he wouldn't.

"It's over, Cato. Please…end it…"

"No!" he shouts, his voice painfully loud as he pulls away from me. He grasps both of my hands in his, gripping me as if he can heal my injuries with the force of his will alone. "I'll never do it! I never could have done it!"

"As I never…would have…killed you," I whisper haltingly. "This…this is mercy. Cato…please…"

I lift my hand up and away from his, feeling myself shaking violently as I tap his jacket pocket. Even that tiny movement exhausts me totally and makes my mind spin. Then I feel him move and eventually manage to open my eyes, which find his immediately. He just stares at me, unsure of what to do, a wordless picture of pain and grief I can hardly bear to look at.

"Please, Cato. It hurts. I'm dead already. There's nothing you can do. Please…do this one last thing for me…make the pain stop," I say, my voice getting weaker and weaker as I strive to find basic words that normally come to me automatically. I can't bear the pain anymore. I'd put myself out of my misery to spare him the task if I could but I simply don't have the strength. I take as deep a breath as I can, preparing myself for one final effort. "Do it," I say in a slightly more forceful tone, my eyes locked to his, mostly because focussing on him is the only thing keeping me conscious. "Then make sure you win this thing for both of us, or my ghost will find yours and kill you all over again as a punishment."

He stares unblinkingly at me, and I see the exact second he makes his decision by the look in his eyes. "I'll kill him for this, I swear it. I'll kill them all."

Then he sits up, still focussed intently on my face as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I love you, Clove Jacia. More than my own life. You have my word that he will die for this." His voice is barely audible, for me and not for the cameras. His words are mine and I hope they can't hear.

I watch as he raises the knife, drawing it sharply across the palm of his own hand as he seals his oath in blood, the meaning of which will not be lost to those watching back home. In District 2, what he just said and did in my name means as much as any vow at a marriage ceremony. A cool breeze blows across my face and I feel the wetness of my tears on my cheeks as I notice them for the first time.

Then he leans back down over me, his lips brushing mine as I feel him position the knife over my heart however hard he tries to hide it. A single tear trickles slowly down his face, the very first I've ever seen him shed. I'd wipe it away if I could but I can't move.

"I will be with you again very soon, my Clove," he whispers, and I vaguely register what that means as I briefly feel a sharp pain in my chest before everything vanishes and turns to darkness.

Epilogue

I've heard many people say that just before a person dies, their whole life flashes by before them, and though I had never seen how that could be true, I know now that they were right. I expect it's the overwhelming pain that's making me delirious, giving me hallucinations which are so vivid it's like watching my life playing back on a television screen, but the images I see and the emotions I feel are so real that I feel like I'm living them all over again.

I see a young boy dressed in a filthy shirt, with material bound around his feet because he doesn't have any shoes, and although I only have a vague recollection of how it felt to be that boy, I know instantly that he's a younger version of myself. As soon as I realise that, I suddenly stop watching the boy and become him instead, giving me the odd sensation that I'm looking down on myself but living the memory at the same time.

I'm thrown roughly out of a familiar building onto the dark, forbidding streets of the part of District 2 that nobody in their right mind wanders through in daylight never mind in the pitch black of the middle of the night. When I turn to see the face of the person who cast me away, I abruptly remember what I'm living through for the second time. This was the night I killed someone for the first time. I was seven years old.

I never knew who my mother was. She could have been one of about ten women who made a living in one of the many dilapidated houses in the backstreets of the poorest part of the district where I spent the first years of my life. They survived by selling the only thing they had left because it was the only way to stay alive, and any children they had belonged to all of them and none of them at the same time.

I stayed there because I knew nothing else, and because there was one woman who was always nice to me, who always had a kind word and something to eat. I knew even then that she wasn't my mother because her skin was too dark, but I had wished that she was for as long as I could remember.

That night after running my usual errands, I ran to find her like I always did, barging into her room to share the loaf of bread I'd stolen. But she wasn't waiting for me with her familiar smile. Instead she was lying motionless on the narrow bed, her murderer still standing over her. Without thinking I sprinted over to him, jumped onto his back and drove my knife into his throat before he even knew I was there.

That was when the owner of the house walked in, the one we all worked for. He took one look at the scene before him and then lifted me up by the back of my bloodstained shirt, telling me that seeing as he already has two bodies to dispose of whilst avoiding the ever watchful eyes of the Peacekeepers, he is unfortunately going to have to leave it to someone or something else to be the death of me. He lamented dramatically and graphically about how grieved he was that he had no choice but to deprive himself of the pleasure of killing me himself, but I felt no fear. In fact I felt nothing. The anguish caused by the death of the woman I thought of as a mother numbed all other emotions.

I wonder if that man remembers me all these years later, now he's undoubtedly watching my slow and agonising death on his television screen?

* * *

However I didn't die of starvation or something a whole lot more horrific like the man who cast me out from the only home I had ever known had predicted. I was determined to prove him wrong by surviving and I survived by doing what I'd always done - running errands, stealing and spying. I found that as I was so good at it, I was never short of work and was able to earn just enough to stay alive.

I was nine years old when one of the most powerful men in the criminal underworld of District 2 ordered me to steal something from the infamous Training Centre, right from under the nose of the man who controlled it, the formidable victor of the Hunger Games known to me only as Vikus. I can't remember what I was supposed to steal. Looking back now, I don't think that it mattered much to anyone. It wasn't what I was to have stolen but the actual act of stealing from a rival that mattered. I hadn't wanted to go but at the same time I knew I had no choice.

I was raised to be a good thief, and so that was the first time I'd ever been caught stealing. If I'd known what would happen then I never would have done any of it. To this day I still think that if it hadn't been for Her then I would have preferred a quick execution at the hands of the Peacekeepers to what I endured.

Vikus kept me locked up in the Training Centre for what felt like all eternity, inflicting every form of torture he knew and probably a few more besides. Despite what I've become, how physically easy it is for me to kill, I still remember that time of my life and shiver with something that must be fear.

It took a long time for Vikus to get what he wanted, but I'm ashamed to admit that I begged him for the mercy of death in the end. It was that plea for mercy, that weakness, which finally made him let me out of that tiny room, and the next thing I knew, he was telling me he'd spare my life if I worked for him instead of his rival and started training to become a tribute in the Hunger Games.

I could already fight and I'd killed before, so it didn't seem like a hardship to me and it wasn't a difficult choice to make. I found that as I was sitting there slumped in the chair opposite him, battered, bruised and broken, I had lost my determination to survive and had found something totally different. Powerful and undefeated as he was, from that day onwards I became determined to become better than Vikus, to become stronger and more skilled than him so that one day I could have my revenge. I wanted nothing more than to make him beg me for his pitiful life in the same way he made me beg him for mine.

* * *

The golden wall of the Cornucopia swims before me as I half regain consciousness at the thought of my hated mentor. I've spent most of my life hating, I've known nothing else so it's as natural as breathing, but until I came to this arena, I've never hated anyone more than I hated Vikus. Even as I regret how I'll never have my vengeance, I wonder what he's thinking right now as he watches me die.

Even now, as he watches from the Control Room as his dream of mentoring another District 2 victor slowly slips away, he has no idea that with two very recent and very different exceptions, every person I've ever killed has died wearing his face. I want to tell him. There's bound to be a camera pointing right at me, because the Capitolians will want nothing more than to see my death up close, and suddenly I want to talk. I want him to hear. I want him to know that he never defeated me.

But then a vicious growl reaches my ears as they stop fighting amongst themselves and begin to torment me once more. The renewed pain swiftly pushes me back away from reality and the memory of Vikus almost disappears.

* * *

And that's how I began my life at the Training Centre. I trained harder than anyone my age and harder even than most of those due to compete in the reaping trials. Nothing else mattered but my determination to do everything in my power to achieve my single goal of having my revenge upon the man who tortured me in that tiny dark room underneath the Arena. I maintained that single-minded determination constantly, nurturing it until it became so strong I could barely conceal it from those around me. After a while, I hardly noticed how virtually everyone I trained with avoided me, how some of them cowered away in fear when they caught my eye.

Then one day, when I was thirteen years old and about a month away from attending my second reaping, everything changed. For that was the day I saw Her.

She was always different. A tiny, wild-looking, dark-haired girl with the white skin of the District 2 upper classes but with a Training Centre token around her neck just like mine. When she saw me staring, she glared right back as if she wasn't half my size.

I pretended I wanted the knife she wore on her belt, but I didn't. Knives were her thing, even then. What I really wanted was an excuse to challenge her. I saw something in her even then, even if I didn't quite realise at the time how completely she would conquer me in the end.

She didn't disappoint me that day or on any other that followed it, and we became friends and allies before we were old enough for there to be anything more between us. We were united in our fight against the whole world and everyone else in it, and after only a short time, I couldn't imagine it being any different.

I would have died for her even then, and I proved it to her and to the whole Training Centre when Vikus tried to have her killed in the Arena and I passed her the weapons she needed to save her life. She was thirteen years old and she killed for me. She ended that boy's life on Vikus's command because she knew that if she refused to do so then it would be my life that would be forfeit.

That was the first time I acknowledged that I saw her as more than my friend. She wasn't like everyone else even then. She was better than them, and I remained by her side as we both grew older, noticing how different she still was.

It's a harsh life in the Training Centre, and many of the girls quickly learnt to survive by fighting for the affections of the most powerful and influential boys more fiercely than they ever fought in the practice ring, trading their favours for protection from everyone else, but she never did. She fought like a demon against anyone who challenged her, never more strongly than against those who sought to claim her as theirs. The first time we ever argued was when I tried to explain to her that the way she reacted to them only made their desire to possess her even stronger. After all, by then nobody understood what it was to desire her better than I did.

I never understood why she used to react as she did, where her fear and hatred of being touched came from, a fear that remained with her even in the Capitol Remake Centre. No matter how many times I asked her, even when she lay sleepily relaxed in my arms years later, she would never explain. She said there was nothing to tell and that it was just the way she was.

Maybe it really was just something that was always there, but by the time she had her fifteenth birthday, when she was begging me to take her to the prize fights I'd already been competing in for over a year so that she too could contribute towards raising money for the plans we'd already started to make, it was only an incredibly stupid or incredibly brave man or boy who would mess with Clove Jacia.

I'd always doubted my own intelligence in her presence and had long since made the decision to be brave.

It didn't take long for her to wear me down, and once she had almost got the better of me in the Arena for the first time, I finally conceded that she was ready. She shone that night, a beacon of light in the damp and dark old storeroom where the fights were held, and the pain I feel in reality fades to nothing as I remember how I lifted her high into the air, spinning her around and around as we both celebrated her victory.

I remember everything about her and not even the almighty Capitol can take that away from me. I remember the way the moonlight reflected off her pale skin as we stood on the roof of our disused warehouse, the look she sometimes had in her silver eyes that nobody but me ever saw. And I remember the way her tiny hands trembled when they trailed across my skin that night as she found the courage to overcome her biggest fear. I'd never cared for anyone or anything before. I didn't even think I could. But she proved me wrong that night, no matter how I tried to fight it.

For such a long time I kept telling myself I didn't really feel anything for her, that I didn't need her, that what I did feel was something any person can feel, simple lust and nothing more. I even tried to tell myself she felt the same about me, that the fact she trusted me so completely and yet still pushed anyone and everyone else away with her now renowned ferocity was an insignificant detail. Yet little by little, the voice in my head that told me she meant nothing got quieter and quieter until eventually it fell completely silent.

She told me so many times that she didn't need protection from anyone and she was right, she was more than capable of looking after herself. But I couldn't help it. I always knew I was never worthy of her, and yet I couldn't stop myself from trying to be. Whenever anyone looked at her with desire in their eyes, I wanted to stand in front of her so she couldn't be seen. Whenever anyone put yet another scar on her body during a fight in the Arena, I wanted to give them three in return. Whenever anyone dared to touch her, I felt a blinding, murderous rage that was stronger even than that I felt when I thought of my need to make Vikus regret what he did to me.

I wasn't whole without her. I wasn't happy unless I was touching her, listening to her tell me I'd stand no chance if we fought even as I held her in my arms like I could protect her from the harsh world in which we were both forced to exist. There were times when I wanted to possess her, to dominate her entirely, and yet even as I did, even as she allowed me to, I soon realised that she possessed me in equal measure. By the time she had her sixteenth birthday, I was hers as surely as she was mine.

About a year later, I won the reaping trials. I won the right to represent my district in the Hunger Games in the usual District 2 way - by defeating all of my competitors in a fight that was often to the death. It's not my victory I remember though, not the cheers of the spectators as I finished off my final opponent, nor the words of congratulations from the mentors who seemed so certain that I would soon be one of them. It's not even the knowledge of how I was that bit closer to achieving what I'd been so determined to achieve for so many years.

I thought I was just over a month away from finally being able to have the victory I'd dreamed of for so long, not just in the Games but over the man who taught me the true meaning of hate, and yet that doesn't change how what I remember most from that day is Her. I remember the red tunic she wore, the way the wind ruffled her hair as she watched me fight from her position at the Arena gate, and the way she pushed through the crowd so she could stand by my side as soon as my final opponent crashed unconscious to the floor. She looked up at me with such pride in her eyes that I suddenly wanted both this year's Games and next year's to be over already so we could make the plans we'd been dreaming up together for years into the reality we had imagined.

* * *

For a brief moment I continue to see her as clearly in my mind as if she were standing beside me, but then she slowly fades, the mind-numbing, excruciating pain returning as I'm dragged further into the Cornucopia.

The movement pulls on every single one of my wounds. I hear myself cry out because of the pain and I bite my lip hard, stopping it from happening again, at least temporarily. Clove used to say there was a better life after this one and she refused to believe death was the end. She'd seen so much death and destruction in her short life, and I knew that belief was her way of dealing with knowing that she could be next. I knew better than to question her. I used to tease her though, telling her I'd haunt her for forever and a day if what she said is true. She made me promise I would. And that's why I must die with dignity and without showing my pain. If there's a chance she can see me now then I will not shame her as greatly as I have failed her. I have to be strong.

* * *

That thought allows me to fall temporarily into the bliss of unconsciousness once more, but the memory I relive makes me wish for the physical pain to return as a distraction from the emotional pain that replaces it. Reaping Day.

I knew as soon as Selene Fairfax drew Clove's name from the reaping ball, placing us in the same Hunger Games with no way out, that I would never be the one to kill her. I was determined that the only way she would die would be if the Capitol killed us both. But my determination wasn't enough. I failed her, and knowing that has caused me more pain than the Capitol's muttations which still surround me ever could. It's fitting I should die now, in a situation that could have been prevented if I'd just got to the Cornucopia a minute sooner. Together we could have defeated both the mutts and District 12, alone, as ever, I had no chance.

* * *

It's been so long since they dragged me in here that my ability to feel individual injuries is a distant memory, and I realise my body must have become accustomed to the pain because I don't feel it anywhere near as strongly as I did at the beginning. I can feel myself slipping away into a much more permanent unconsciousness and I know it won't be long now.

It was probably the Capitol's idea of a joke to make the muttations look like the tributes. I should have guessed as I stare into the eyes of the wolf that's crouched in front of me that they wouldn't be able to resist one final torture. The wolf has silver eyes, eyes that are unlike those of any natural wolf. Her eyes. I killed many of the mutts when I first fell from the top of the Cornucopia but I couldn't kill this one. I can't kill anything that has those eyes.

I hadn't imagined this ending to my life. I've thought about my own death almost constantly since the feast, for since that fateful morning I knew it wouldn't be far away, but it was going to be on my terms not that of the Gamemakers. I promised her I'd win the Games, that I'd kill the one who took her from me, but not that I would return to District 2. To think of going back to the place which is so full of memories without her is unthinkable, and up until the last time I was conscious, I still had her knife in my pocket, a knife I'd kept there safely for when the time came. Then the entire nation would have known the truth. Then the whole nation would have understood that I'd never live in a world that didn't have Her in it.

I wish it could have happened like I'd planned. Not just because I can't stop thinking of how I've failed her by not winning, but because it still gives me great pleasure to imagine how the Capitol would react to having to send their victor home in a wooden box next to another box just like it, one which bears the one who saved his life long before the loss of her ever gave him reason to end it.

The wolf with my lover's eyes bares its teeth at me as it attacks once more, and I fall into darkness yet again, hypnotised by those eyes, which never change no matter what pain and injury the creature inflicts upon me.

* * *

I must have passed out, because when I eventually succeed in my struggle to open my eyes, I can see the pale light of dawn shining in through the open front of the golden horn. The muttations are still there, their attack unrelenting, and I abruptly realise the pain must have finally made me lose my mind when I hear her calling to me. She calls my name in a voice that contains none of the pain the arena caused her to feel. She sounds like she used to, she sounds like she did on the day I won the reaping trials and we thought we could rule the world.

If I'm mad then I don't care. She's with me and that's all that matters.

She appears at the entrance to the Cornucopia, holding her tiny, pale hand out to me, but when I try to reach for her, I can't move. She looks questioningly at me and I struggle to whisper a word I can barely distinguish when I finally succeed, desperate for her not to go, for her to stay with me to keep the pain away. It sounds like I say 'please', a word that sounds so strange and unfamiliar coming from my lips, but that doesn't matter. I've always been willing to say anything for her and this is no different.

She smiles that sly half-smile I'll never forget. Then the pain vanishes as the world turns to black and I know that it's finally over.

* * *

She was right about so many other things that I should have known she was right about this too. The next time I open my eyes, it's to find that all of my pain has vanished so completely it's merely a vague and distant memory. As I stand and leave the shelter of the Cornucopia, I discover I'm healed so completely that I can walk with the familiar swagger I remember from my life before the arena.

Then I see her, perched on a rock a short distance away, staring into the golden horn with the most terrible expression of horror and pain that I've ever seen on her face. She doesn't see me so I call out to her.

"Are you here to kill me all over again then?"

She doesn't reply when she turns to face me, the terror and pain suddenly replaced by stunned amazement as she slowly shakes her head. I walk quickly over to her and hold out my hand. She hurriedly accepts it as if she thinks I could vanish at any moment. I want to tell her that I'll never leave her, that I won't let her go for a second time, but I quickly realise that the Clove I know and love would roll her eyes at that and tell me accusingly that if I don't stop being so pathetic then I'll be quoting Capitol love poetry next.

Therefore I do the next best thing and smirk down at her as I lift her off her feet, holding her so tightly that she couldn't begin to struggle even if she wanted to. I soon realise that she doesn't want to when she wraps her arms tightly around me as I take us both away from our old life to something infinitely better.

* * *

_**28/03/2012 - I can't believe it's been over two years since I wrote this... But I'm still here, so if you've read this far then I'd love to hear what you think... **_


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